Retrouvailles
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'It's been over a year since he last saw her and after all this time, of all places, he's literally bumped into her in the middle of Paris.' A post 3x24, Knockout, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is set post 3x24, Knockout, and follows the idea that Castle never returned to the precinct after Beckett's shooting.**

* * *

He isn't looking where he's going, staring at the passing cobblestones beneath his feet, allowing his mind to wander, going over the trivial things he needs to do in his head.

Eat something, shower, sleep. He just wants to sleep.

He's living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, trying to cross number 19 off his bucket list - _spend a year in Paris_ \- and so far all he wants to do is hole up in his apartment and catch up on rest that will never sustain him. He's been struggling with the fourth Nikki Heat novel for months, the words all wrong and jumbled, the story in shambles. Deciding to go to Paris had been a spontaneous choice, made solely to escape from the worried eyes of his family and the demanding screech of his publisher. It's been only three weeks so far and everyone believes he's doing well, up and writing again.

He's been lying to them all. Paris is a great relief, though, an escape where he can wallow in his sorrow rather than hide it behind a mask of indifference or feigned happiness.

His daughter makes him happy, his mother does too, but his heart still aches with what's missing. Paris allows him to feel without judgment.

He isn't looking where he's going, too caught up in the whirlwind of his mind, and he nearly knocks the woman he bumps into to the ground.

"I'm so sorry," he says immediately, catching the sharp juts of the woman's elbows to steady her before she can hit the sidewalk. "I should have-"

His sentence dies when the stranger lifts her head. Soft curls hanging limply at her shoulders do nothing to hide her face - the sharp slashes of cheekbones, the familiar flesh of long abused lips, the unmistakable pools of hazel eyes.

Not a stranger at all.

Kate Beckett.

It's been over a year since he last saw her and after all this time, of all places, he's literally bumped into her in the middle of Paris.

"Castle," she whispers, her curled fingers tightening around his forearms and he jerks away as if she's burned him, as if he's seen a ghost.

"What are you doing here?"

She bites her lip, steps closer once more only to send him pedaling backwards, nearly colliding with yet another pedestrian.

"I - I went to the loft," she reveals, attempting to steer him towards a nearby bench on the sidewalk without touching him. "The day before yesterday, I wanted - I'd hoped to see you. Your mom told me how to find you."

He rubs at his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath. His own mother had ratted him out.

The traitor.

"What are you doing here?" he repeats because she still hasn't explained and he still doesn't understand.

A year of radio silence and all of the sudden she's showing up at his home, asking for him? Makes no sense.

Kate shuffles her shoes on the sidewalk. Ballet flats scraping against stone, so unlike the Beckett and the power heels he remembered.

"I needed to talk to you."

"There's always a phone. Oh wait, almost forgot. You're not good with those," he snaps, surprising even himself with the density of his anger, the bitterness, but she had turned him away after he'd confessed his love to her as she bled out in his arms, and then hadn't had the decency to even call afterwards. He thinks that maybe he deserves to be a little more than bitter.

"Castle, please just hear me out-"

"The time for that has passed, Beckett," he mutters, shaking his head as he turns away from her. His apartment is the other way, but he doesn't care. He'll take a cab back to his place later, he just needs to get _away_ from her.

"Rick." Her hand snags in his shirt, but before he can even turn to brush the offending fingers away, he hears her gasp - a sound of pain - and instinct to check on her, to care for her, has him spinning on the spot, concern betraying his indignation and flaring in his gut when he sees her clutching her ribs. "Castle," she wheezes, tightening her grip on the sleeve of his button down and trying to stand up straight even as her spine threatens to bow. It's been a year and her body is still so fragile? "Please don't go."

"I can't do this," he says, automatic, because he can't seem to move away, but he forces his hand to rise, to dislodge her fingers from his shirt. "I can't do this again."

"It was a mistake. That entire summer, everything after - I messed up, Castle. I thought I needed time, but I should have just - I should have called."

Shit, she has tears in her eyes and he's always hated seeing her cry. But a few tears and a brief explanation cannot heal all of the pain she's caused, is still causing. He doesn't think he can forgive her for this.

"We're done, Kate."

He makes it only a few steps down the street before the uneven ring of her voice follows him.

"If you still love me, in any way at all, please don't go yet."

The fury rages in his chest like a beast, clawing at his ribs and ripping his compassion to shreds, and he turns on his heel, storms forward until they're mere inches apart.

"Don't you dare use that against me," he growls, fisting his hands at his sides to refrain from shaking her. "You don't even remember that, Beckett. You didn't want to remember it."

"That isn't true!" she protests, too loud for a sidewalk in the middle of the city. They're starting to draw attention and the last thing he needs is to be recognized. But then she grabs his hand, encasing his thick fingers within the small palms of hers, and holds tight, and his focus zeros in on her touch despite his anger. "I was a mess after the shooting and I had hoped that once I was better - once I had healed - I could tell you the truth. I was hoping we could... I wanted to be strong enough to say it back to you."

He steels himself against her words, tamps down even the faintest hint of hope her explanation evokes. She lied to him, she's never wanted him; it's all lies.

"I have to go, Kate. I just - I have to go."

He tugs his hand free, trying not to look at her crestfallen face or feel the ghost of her fingers still branded into his skin as he walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

He makes it a block, one single block, before he ends up turning around and retracing his steps back to her. It's pathetic, how he still resembles a puppy when it comes to Kate Beckett, even after she's wounded him so deeply he thought he'd never recover. But she's here, in Paris, for him apparently, and for the first time in more than twelve months, his heart beats with something other than obligation.

He finds her on the bench where he had left her, sitting on the chipped, black painted wood with her knees pulled to her chest, her chin on her patella and her hair in curtains around her face. He sits down next to her, feels her tense before she spares a glance in his direction.

"I almost died," she murmurs, and his eyes snap to her out of reflex, horror coming alive in his chest. "I had gone after the sniper, the one who shot me. No backup, just Espo. Ended up hanging from the side of a building. I thought I heard you," she sighs, digging her nails into the denim at her shins while his mind spirals with panic at the imagery of the story she spins. _Hanging from the side of a building?_ "I thought I heard your voice, calling for me, telling me to just hold on. But when they pulled me up and you weren't there… I've always known letting you go was a mistake, but it took nearly falling to my death to realize that all I wanted this entire time was you."

She turns her head, shifting her cheek to rest upon her knees as she watches him staring back at her in something between shock and disbelief.

"It's not enough," she continues, her eyes growing wet again even as she tries valiantly to blink the moisture away. "But I'm so sorry, Castle. So sorry for all of it."

His daughter had once told him that he forgives too easily, using analogies about him being a doormat and wearing his heart on his sleeve. It had been one of the rare occasions when he had contemplated returning to the precinct regardless of Kate's lack of contact in the summer, but Alexis had caught him, called him out before he could reach the front door and said with knowing eyes that some people just don't deserve his forgiveness.

He can believe that to an extent, but Kate Beckett isn't just someone who hurt him. She's more, she's always been more, and even if he wishes he wasn't, even though he's spent the last year trying not to be, he's still in love with her. Looking back at her now only confirms it.

Tentatively, he reaches through the few inches of space between them, brushes her hair back with fingers that shake with uncertainty. It steals his breath when she turns her head, manages to smudge a whisper of a kiss to the heel of his palm.

It may take time, but he knows she's worthy of forgiveness, that if she wants him like she says she does, she'll earn it.

"It's not enough," he agrees after a moment, feeling her body deflate beside his, feeling his heart crack at the crumble of her face as she nods her acceptance and starts to rise from the bench, but he catches her hand before she can go. "But it can be enough for now."

Her eyes brighten with a hesitant hope as he stands beside her, lacing their fingers and coaxing her close enough to rest his forehead to hers, closer than ever before. He doesn't think he's ever seen Kate Beckett looking quite so hesitant, doesn't think his heart has ever fluttered so hard with nerves he can't quite identify as good or bad.

It's the first time he's ever held her hand without the weight of a case between them, the presence of a bomb inches away, the first time he's known the kiss of her palm and the fit of her fingers to the spaces between his, the gentle pressure of her forehead.

"How long did you intend to stay?"

Her unoccupied hand rises to his cheek, strokes at the stubble there, embedding his skin with the prints of her fingertips.

"Until I found you," she shrugs. "I bought a one way ticket."

"How long do you have off work?"

It's too soon to kiss her, to do anything more than the innocent hold of hands and intimate touch of heads, but when she chews on her lower lip, he's oh so tempted. He still remembers what she tastes like.

"I kind of quit my job," she whispers, wincing when his eyes bulge in surprise, but before he can respond, she's speaking again. "Castle, I want to keep talking, but can we go somewhere less public?"

He nods, grateful for the suggestion, and resumes the path to his apartment with her hand wrapped securely in his.

* * *

He tries not to watch so obviously as she marvels over the city during their walk to his apartment. She's silent, but soft awe is etched into each line decorating her face, admiration in her eyes as they pass rows of historic architecture.

"You've never been to Paris?" he asks, the first thing he's said since they put the big conversation on hold, and Kate abandons her viewing of the magnificent fountain adorning the Place Andre-Malraux to meet his gaze.

"No," she murmurs, flicking her eyes down to their twined hands. "I've always wanted to, just never had the chance."

Her lips quirk and her thumb circles his knuckle, sending his thoughts spiraling in every direction. It's almost sensory overload, just holding her hand like this, strolling through Paris like lovers with a woman he was never able to truly love.

"I picked a good place to run away to then, huh?" he jokes, but it falls flat and Kate brushes his shoulder with the curved bone of hers.

"Why Paris?"

He shrugs. "It was on my bucket list."

Her eyes sparkle with something he can't distinguish, specks of gold like intrigue swimming within the sea of hazel before they flit away from his to take in the spectacular view of the Louvre. His apartment has a breathtaking view of the elegant museum he's yet to truly appreciate, but he's able to witness Kate Beckett's wonder of it, and he thinks that's far more beautiful than the landmark itself.

Her hand tightens around his once they reach his building, and when he glances back to her, the hesitance is alive and back in her eyes, sudden exhaustion creeping onto her features.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she answers too quickly, a strange determination spreading through her gaze as he unlocks the security door and they approach the stairs and – oh, _oh_ , the stairs.

"Beckett, if you can't-"

"I can," she argues, forging up the first couple of metal steps, practically tugging him along with her now, and he should really let go of her hand.

He doesn't.

"Still stubborn," he mutters, but his heart exalts at the smirk she throws him over her shoulder. He never thought he would be bantering with her again and it shouldn't mean so much to him, he should still be furious, and yet…

There are 24 steps to reach the first floor where there is an elevator that they won't need to use and he doesn't try to stop her from plowing ahead, but he does notice when she begins to slow, her body beginning to protest the climb. By step 19, she's grunting under her breath and making inconspicuous attempts to rub at her left side.

By step 22, Castle wraps an arm at her waist and hauls her up the last two steps.

"What's going on, Kate?" he questions, covering the fingers splayed at her ribcage, searching for the source of her pain. "Did something else happen while I was gone?"

"No," she rasps, trying so hard to stand straight, to abandon the support of his body at her side, but she continues to end up nearly doubled over with her teeth clenched and her eyes squeezed shut. "I just - never healed. Not right."

His heart constricts without his permission. The thought of her living with the physical pain every day, the constant reminder of the bullet that pierced her heart… it breaks him.

"Why?" he demands, but he already knows, has it confirmed when she spares a sideways glance in his direction.

"Pushed too hard. L-lied about how bad it was so I could pass physical therapy, be back in the field," she gets out and he shakes his head in exasperation, swats her hand away and digs his fingers into the muscles below her rib, winces at the sharp spasms, the low whine it evokes in her throat.

"You're too damn stubborn, too stupid, Kate."

"Don't - don't call me stupid, Richard Castle," she shoots back, sighing in relief as the ministrations of his fingers seem to uncoil the knot in her side. Her ribs expand beneath his palm, her chest heaving with the deep breath, and he wonders which hurts worse, the bullet hole he knows resides above her heart, or the strip of scar tissue that hides the damaged muscles beneath his hand.

"Then stop doing stupid things, like torturing your own body," he grumbles, but his lips are threatening to twitch with amusement at the eye roll he receives for the comment.

"Just get me to your apartment before I collapse in your hallway and cause a scene."

"Little late for that, Beckett," he chuckles, retracting his arm from around her, dodging the hand that reaches for his again, digging in his jacket pocket for his keys instead.

Her fingers drop away from him, returning to cover her side again, retracing the pattern he had carved into the protesting muscles and defeated tissue.

"Sorry if it's kind of a mess," Castle mumbles, unlocking the front door and placing a hand to the small of her back before he can think better of it, guiding her inside the expensive apartment and taking her jacket for her, hanging it in the coat closet to the right.

"It's lovely," she murmurs, examining the spacious living area of the apartment he's been renting for the last few weeks. He found the place online, loved the light that poured through the windows, over the walls and floors, but lately, he's kept the curtains shut.

"Are you staying anywhere?" he asks, dropping the keys on the kitchen counter and opening the fridge, holding up a water bottle for her.

She nods, to both the water and the question. "Just a cheap hotel by the airport. Like I said, I didn't do much planning ahead."

"This place is a two bedroom," he finds himself offering before he can think better of that either, not doing much planning here himself, and her wide eyes show him she's just as surprised by the suggestion as he is. "I just - hate you spending cash on a hotel when there's a perfectly good place available here." He shrugs, hoping to play it off as a casual, friendly offer because he refuses to allow it to be anything more. He wants more, he can't deny that, but they aren't ready for more. Not even close, not yet.

He watches her hands clench around the plastic bottle before loosening and spanning her fingers over the tears of condensation. "I - okay. I'll go get my stuff later."

"Okay," he agrees, watching her lean against the wall that separates the kitchen from the dining area. She looks so frail, so thin and withering, and he can see her bones through her clothing, as if she hasn't eaten in the last year. "We should order a pizza."

Her eyebrows hitch, her lips quirking in tentative amusement at the suggestion, but she shrugs her shoulders.

"A Paris pizza? Sounds nice."

"We'll try the best of the Paris cuisine another night, Beckett," he murmurs, a smirk flirting with the edges of his lips, and her gentle smile grows.

"I'd like that."


	3. Chapter 3

The pizza arrives within fifteen minutes and he's thankful for the distraction from the awkward small talk they've been attempting. It isn't her – Kate is asking all the right things, inquiring about Alexis, about his mother, his writing – it's him, his stinted answers and stuttered responses that continue crushing conversations before they can begin. She's trying though, putting forth an effort, and it feeds his traitorous hope that their friendship, the potential for more, is still salvageable.

Castle pays the delivery boy, carries the single pizza box into the living room, where she's still curled up on his sofa, studying him like he once studied her, watching intently.

"What?"

"Nothing," she mumbles while he places the box on the glass coffee table, snagging a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and handing one to her in lieu of a plate.

It takes her a moment to unfurl from her spot in the corner of the couch, lowering her legs from their folded position at her chest and shifting into a proper sitting position, biting back a wince the entire time. But a gentle smile blooms through her subdued pain when he flips the pizza box open.

"You remembered my order."

He remembers a lot of things about her, too much.

"Yeah," he shrugs, contemplating pulling up one of the nearby armchairs closer to the small table, but the cushion beside hers is too inviting to ignore, and Castle eases down tentatively next to her, keeping a good few feet of space between them.

"Thought you were a fan of plain pepperoni," she murmurs, scooping up a slice of pepperoni and pineapple from the cardboard box. Fruit on pizza has never appealed to him, despite his expansive experience in mixing different food categories together, and he used to tease her about her preferred pizza order, appropriately deeming the pineapple and pepperoni combo a "Beckett flavored" kind of pizza.

"I am, but I thought I might finally give in and try your favorite," he muses, grabbing a slice from the box and placing it on the paper towel in his palm. Kate keeps her eyes on him as she takes her first bite, grinning around the string of cheese that clings to her bottom lip as he mimics her, chewing thoughtfully while the bursts of cheese, tomato sauce, and pineapple assault his taste buds. "Not bad. But in turn, you should agree to try my s'morelette."

"No way," she scoffs around another bite of her pizza. "Stick to pancakes, Castle."

He huffs, but a chuckle is crawling up his throat, memories of making pancakes in her old apartment swelling in his mind. "Deal, but only if you make another buffet like you did when you stayed in the loft after your apartment blew up."

Kate hums, one of her eyebrows curving with the corner of her mouth while she reaches for her water bottle. "That could be arranged."

The smile doesn't leave his lips while they eat in comfortable silence, but the lack of conversation gives his treacherous mind time to think, time to dig up unasked questions that have formed within the last year.

"How's Josh?"

She nearly chokes on her water.

"I – I wouldn't know," she answers around a cough, wiping a drop of water from her chin with the back of her hand. "We broke up while I was still in the hospital."

"Oh." It's all he can say, the single syllable falling past his lips in surprise. "I just… I wasn't sure if he was still-"

"No," she assures him, dropping the second crust of her pizza into the box. "That was… hiding, like you said."

Her gaze remains trained on the final few pieces of pizza left, lowering further to the bottle still in her hands while he sits there, dumbfounded, because did Kate Beckett just concur to a point he had made over a year ago during their worst argument to date?

 _I know you crawled inside your mother's murder and didn't come out, I know you hide there, the same way you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love._

"There hasn't been anyone else since," she adds, placing her water back on the elegant glass coffee table in front of them and staring down at her knees. He wouldn't have dared ask for that kind of reassurance, but he's glad, so glad, she's given it to him.

"For me either," he mumbles back, and he knows she didn't ask either, but some of the tension in her shoulders unwinds at the news and it provides him with a sweet taste of satisfaction to know she's just as relieved to learn he's remained single.

"Were you always planning this?" he asks suddenly, turning to face her on the couch, earning a confused glance for the question. "Were you always going to come find me? Because if so, a warning would have been nice. I would have waited, Kate."

"No, no, that's not it," she rasps, moving in closer to him and since when does she allow this breach of space? But she has a desperate shimmer in her eyes, a yearning for him to understand, so he tries. "Part of the reason I never called was because yes, I was a coward. I couldn't - I needed to heal, to forget about that day, about Montgomery, about - about you and what you said. I needed to just not think about it." He swallows at that, hopes the flicker of hurt he feels fluttering through his chest doesn't show on his face, but by the way she curls a hand at his knee, he knows it has. "After I came back, after I was reinstated at the Twelfth, I wanted to find you, to explain everything and just talk. But I realized that maybe it was better if I didn't."

Castle's eyes narrow on her, scrutinizing and finding an answer before she can even state it. Rick jerks away from her, up and off the couch.

"Castle, I had no plans of moving past my shooting, past her case, and dragging you back into it with me... I thought I could keep you safe," she sighs, deflating back into the expensive leather of the sofa.

"That was not your decision to make," he growls, pacing in front of her. "That was not-"

"The hell it wasn't!" she snaps, getting to her feet a little slower than he would expect, with too much effort needed from the couch. "How many times have you nearly died because of me? How many times have you nearly lost your life because of this case? I was not going to lead them to you. I refused to take you down with me."

"We were partners," he snarls at her, balling his fists to once again fight the reoccurring urge to shake her by the shoulders. "We were supposed to work together, solve her case together, and your selfless little crusade here is admirable, Kate, but it was unfair."

He's ready to turn his back on her for the second time that day, to lock himself in his bedroom for the night, wait until morning to find out whether she'll disappear on him again or not, but Beckett snags him by the elbow.

"It would have ripped me apart to lose you too, don't you get that?" she grates out, her teeth clenched like the fingers in the sleeve of his shirt. "I couldn't - I was not going to be the reason Alexis lost her dad, the reason Martha lost her son. I was not going to take you away from them."

"Then what are you doing here, Kate?"

"I told you, I quit. I'm done with her case, with all of it. I don't want it." She releases his shirt to take his hand, her cool, slender fingers snaking through his. "Not like I want you."

"You can't just say things like that," he growls to hide the rasp in his throat, to keep the unhinged wave of emotions at bay, but then Kate moves in closer to him, and the waters turn unruly.

"I don't say things I don't mean," she mumbles, staring up at him with clear, unguarded eyes, with yearning illuminating the hazel of her irises, spreading gold along the circumference of her pupils. "I just want you."

"Kate," he chokes, but the hand not laced in his rises between them, her thumb stretching to press atop his lips, to silence him while her palm cups his cheek.

"But I made mistakes and I hurt you," she acknowledges, soothing his bottom lip with the erotic brush of her thumb. "I'm prepared to make up for that, Castle."

His hands finally remedy their emptiness and lift to her shoulders, cradling the rounded edges in his palms and allowing his forehead to fall to rest against hers. He likes this position, likes how she's a few inches shorter than him without her heels, relishes in the way she has to tilt her head upwards to meet him.

"Just - time," he manages, circling his thumbs around and around at her biceps while hers grazes along his chin. "Just give me some time and stay, just stay-"

"Yes," she nods, dropping her arms to grip at his sides, splaying her fingers at the cage of his ribs. "I'll stay, I want to stay."

Castle sighs in relief, hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath this entire time, and props his chin atop Kate's head, allows her to smudge her cheek to his clavicle. They stay that way for a while, in between his kitchen and his living room, holding each other together. He thinks it's the first time he's been able to breathe without issue since the day she was shot.


	4. Chapter 4

She didn't heal from the gunshot wound properly.

Most days the pain is manageable, a dull roar that hides beneath her bones and waits until the night descends to turn her muscles into unbearable knots that leave her breathless and paralyzed, but so many hours of flying, sitting cramped and immobile in an airplane must have done some damage. The beating she had taken from Maddox only hours before the flight probably hadn't helped either.

But it's the middle of the night – in France, anyway – only a couple of hours since she had parted from Castle in the living room, claiming the need for rest and smearing the quickest of kisses to his jaw and leaving him gaping before disappearing into the guest room he'd directed her towards. It hadn't been a lie, her body had just failed to cooperate, keeping her awake and in agony long after she had shed her jeans and crawled under the beautiful comforter and soft sheets of his guest bed.

After so many hours of tossing and turning, biting back groans of pain, she just needs a drink, a quick sip of water, but her body is threatening to send her crashing to the gorgeous tile of his Parisian apartment with the flares and spasms overtaking her torso.

She almost makes it, barely three feet from the fridge, when she has to sit or risk passing out. Her back hits the island a little too hard and her head makes a loud smacking noise when she drops it against the wood behind her and tries to breathe.

She should have known it would wake him.

"Kate?"

She can hardly breathe, let alone speak, when he finds her, concern turning his eyes a fierce midnight blue, and she knows that her hands clutching her ribs, her chest, are a dead giveaway to what has sent her to the ground.

Castle kneels down next to her, brushing her hair from her face and scanning his eyes along the length of her coiled body.

"Will medication help? Tylenol, Aspirin, anything?"

She shakes her head, manages to gasp a ragged _no_ , but he's still thinking, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"What about heat?"

A heating pad can be useful, the warmth usually successful in easing her tightly wound muscles when they get to this point, but of course she failed to pack one. She's lucky she packed a decent amount of clothing and toiletries in her haste to catch a flight out from New York. But it wouldn't matter if she had; they've yet to retrieve her belongings from the hotel.

"Don't have anything," she gets out, but Castle appears undeterred.

"I have an idea."

She nods, doesn't even care what it is, but when he slowly eases her back from the wall of the island and carefully slips in behind her, she understands all too well. Her back flattens against the broad expanse of his chest, his knees bracket her thighs, and his hands – his large, warm hands – slide beneath her own, cover the parts of her that ache and throb.

She knows he's only trying to help her, that this isn't a sign of affection or an attempt to feel her up, but Kate turns her head, presses her forehead to the skin of his neck and breathes.

"Thank you," she whispers, feeling her body slowly but steadily relax and loosen as the minutes pass, the knots of thorns unraveling under his touch. "I know I don't deserve-"

"Stop," he mumbles, dipping his cheek to rest at her forehead. The heat of his skin, the scrape of his stubble, the prominent smell of his aftershave wrapping around her senses - all combined with the agony climbing up and down the rungs of her ribs - has the urge to cry welling up within her damaged chest, behind her tired eyes.

"Martha," she gets out around a thick swallow. "She told me Alexis graduated early. Went to Stanford?"

He grunts in affirmation, sounding less than pleased about the change in subject and recent development, but her lips curl.

"I was rooting for Columbia," he huffs, and she covers one of his hands, fits her fingers between the spaces of his and offers a gentle squeeze.

"But I know how proud you must be," she prods, unfurling her knees just slightly, uncurling the tight coil of her limbs.

"Of course I'm proud," he admits on a sigh. "It's just - not the same. So much changed."

Her limbs have begun to relax, but her chest tightens at the words.

"Is she going to visit you? While you're here?"

"She might," he hedges, one of his thumbs strumming up and down, playing the row of bones beneath like strings of an instrument. "She has quite a few summer internships lined up though, so I doubt it would be any time soon."

She can't help the relief that courses through her system at the news. Alexis is not her biggest fan, she's well aware of that, and imagining the girl showing up to see her father only to be greeted with the sight of the woman she's grown to despise over the past year is a nightmare she doesn't think she's strong enough to face.

"Even if she came in right now, it'd be fine, Kate."

Beckett scoffs, regretting it as the spikes twining around her ribs rattle, puncture her lungs, but she still shakes her head against him, feels the flutter of awareness spread through her bloodstream when he clutches her tighter.

"You know it wouldn't," she protests softly, nudging the hard ridge of his jaw with the tip of her nose. "And that's okay, Castle. She deserves to be angry, so do you."

"I'm tired of being angry," he sighs, buries the confession in her hair. "Too tired."

The scar between her breasts throbs in time with her dilapidated heartbeat and Kate reaches for the hand beneath her sternum, guides it up so his broad palm catches the hard pounding in her chest.

"Tell me all of the good things," she whispers, lifting her face to dust her lips at his jaw, abrading her flesh on the stubble, savoring the burn. "This past year - tell me everything I missed."

She feels him swallow, listens to him sigh, and revels in gentle delight as he relaxes at her back, the warmth of his arms going loose but still remaining.

"Well, Mother is pursuing her acting career with renewed fervor. Again."

A whisper of a chuckle tumbles past her lips and she swears she feels him smiling too. He continues on about his mother, doing as she asked and recounting the past 367 days since they last saw one another.

* * *

His words have started to slur, his in depth walkthrough of the fourth Nikki Heat novel steadily falling apart.

"Castle," she yawns, shifting in the cradle of his body, and he blinks, the grit of sleep crowding in the corners of his eyes receding. "You awake?"

"Yeah, right here." He squeezes her shoulder, too tired to startle at the warm press of her face to his clavicle, the nuzzle of her nose at his throat. The sun is breaching the slit of the curtains, rays of light streaking along the floor he's still sitting on with Kate Beckett. And oh, jeez, the entire reason for this – she shouldn't sleep here.

"C'mon Kate," he coaxes, wincing at the ache in his knees as he tries to maneuver his feet beneath him. "Let's get you to bed."

"No, stay," she hums, lifting a hand to his chest, hooking fingers in the neck of his t-shirt. "With me."

"Okay," he relents, allowing himself to savor it for a moment, the feel of her body in his arms, the knowledge of her wanting him. "But not on the floor."

"Anywhere," she sighs, her eyes still closed, her body still curled against him, not making much progress. But his lips still quirk at the word.

Castle decides his best course of action would probably be to carry her, despite the challenge it presents to his own body, but he isn't _that_ old yet, and really, Kate would be light in his arms to begin with, should be practically weightless now. Rick finds his footing on the tile floor, secures his grip on Beckett, and ascends into a standing position with little trouble, quite impressed with himself as he cradles her to his chest and starts for the guest bedroom.

Her hand tightens in his shirt on the walk there, the steady exhale of her breath hot against his neck as she presses in closer, cuddling into his chest. It nearly has him stumbling into the wall.

"Time's it?" she sighs out, her lashes fluttering against his jaw, and it's too much too soon, too many touches he's only ever dreamed of having. "Castle?"

"Almost six," he manages to reply, entering the quaint guest bedroom and reaching the unmade bed in three long strides. "About midnight New York time."

He deposits Kate on the bed gently, easing her onto her back, careful not to place too much pressure on the tender side of her frame. Castle snags the edge of the sheets she must have shoved away whenever she awoke earlier in the night to venture into the kitchen, balances one fist on the mattress near her shoulder while he tugs the Eygptian cotton up to her waist. Her eyes are in slits when he glances to her face, shimmering gold and a soft shade of green in the final vestiges of fading moonlight streaming in from the window with the glimmers of city lights, watching him.

"Will you be okay?" he asks, nodding to the spot beneath her ribs where his palm had resided for the last couple of hours, warming old wounds.

"Should be," she mumbles, unfolding one of her arms from atop her waist to slide the back of her hand up the mattress to collide with his fist, her thumb absentmindedly grazing his thudding pulse. "But would you mind lending me some pajamas until we grab my stuff from the hotel?"

Castle glances down, noticing for the first time like an idiot that she's still in her attire of a light grey t-shirt and dark denim jeans from earlier. "Oh, yeah, of course. Should have thought of that sooner," he mutters, lifting from her bedside and scrambling for his bedroom across the apartment. Some host he is.

He tries not to picture Kate in the large t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that will likely flow past her toes, tries not to imagine her in his clothes, period. Because he's daydreamed about the image before, created scenarios in his head of her engulfed in his pajamas or drowning in his dress shirts, fantasized about the reasons why she would be borrowing his clothes in the first place.

None of those fantasies went quite like this.

"Here you go," he murmurs as he trots back inside the guest room, holding out the garments to her and berating himself for the stupid gallop his heart speeds into when she smiles at him. "Did you need any… help?"

Her smile twists at the edges, morphing into a sleepy but delighted little smirk. "Not this time, Castle."

"T-this time?" he echoes without thinking, his mind racing at the implication, spiraling out of control when her brow arches in return.

"Night, Rick."

His swallow is thick as he makes a stumbling exit from her room, quietly closing the door behind him. For a long moment, he stands in the strengthening sunbeams painting the apartment floor outside her door, dazed and wondering if maybe he's dreamed all of this, her. But the lingering taste of pizza is still clinging to his tongue beneath the mint of his toothpaste, the smell of cherry blossoms and her shampoo is stained into his skin, assaulting his senses and reminding him that this is most definitely not a dream.

Kate Beckett flew to Paris to find him and now she's sleeping in his guest room after spending two hours curled in his arms on the kitchen floor.

It's not how he would have written their reunion, not like a single one of the thousands of times he's played the potential scene over and over again in his head, but surprisingly, he doesn't mind this unexpected twist in a plot he never imagined would come true. Actually, he thinks this may be better.


	5. Chapter 5

The aroma of coffee and his deodorant coax her into awareness, the intoxicating mixture blending with the sunlight bleeding onto the foreign bed to peel her eyes back, reminding her of where she is, of what she's done.

Of what she's wearing.

Kate gingerly sits up in the bed, gritting her teeth against the usual twinge of pain that flares to life in her side, rippling its way up her ribs, thumping against her sternum. She lifts her hand to rub her fingers to the scar at her chest out of habit, glancing down to the unfamiliar fabric she encounters and smiling softly, memories of the night before cascading in.

Her skin still feels warm from where his palms had encompassed her, soothing the tangled knots of muscles and tissue beneath the thick scar on her side.

Noise from outside the guest room pulls her from the reminiscence of last night, from the way her body had melted into the wall of his, and Beckett slips her legs from beneath the covers, plants her feet to the floor and takes a shallow breath before rising, wincing through the signature firecracker of pain that greets her each morning when she shifts from horizontal to vertical positions. But the ache subsides, crawls back into the fiery pit beneath her ribcage while she shuffles to the adjoining bathroom for a glimpse in the mirror.

She cringes at the sight that greets her, flipping on the faucet for the sink to wash the smudged makeup from her face, swiping away the smears of mascara and lingering stains of eyeliner from her lids, allowing the cold water to clear the sleep and a day's worth of travel from her skin. Her hair is oily but manageable, falling around her shoulders in dilapidated curls that smell like him, and after tying it back into a low ponytail and rolling the waistband of his pajama pants up around her hips a couple of times, she finally deems herself presentable.

Opening the bedroom door allows her an immediate glimpse into the kitchen and living room area and her lips quirk the second she sees him, still in his pajamas from the night before, hunched over the small stove, flipping pancakes.

Castle notices her right away, of course, lifting his head from the frying pan and offering her a friendly smile that is still hesitant, still so wary. She doesn't blame him; she knew before she had even made it to his loft yesterday that his forgiveness would not simply be handed to her. Just as he has had to work to earn hers in the past, she will put all of her efforts into proving she is worthy of his. That she can be what he deserves. More, as she so often discussed with Burke in her many visits to her therapist's office.

Even in his absence, Castle had become a frequent topic during her sessions.

"Morning," he greets as she approaches, dividing his attention between the breakfast food on the burner and her, his gaze tripping down her frame. "Well, afternoon now."

A glimpse towards the stovetop with a digital clock on display causes her jaw to drop in surprise. _3 p.m.?_

"Only 9 a.m. your time, Beckett," he reminds her, reading her mind as if he never stopped. "Sleep okay?"

"Pretty good actually," she nods, propping her hip on the edge of the counter next to the stove, watching him stretch towards the coffee maker on the opposite side, drawing a steaming cup into his fingers and extending it towards her. Kate accepts the mug with a furrowed brow. "How did you-"

"I figured once the scent of coffee filled the air, you'd come crawling out of bed," he smirks, directing his eyes back to the pancakes now being transferred to a plate.

"You know me well," she appraises, grinning around the rim of the ceramic cup and taking an experimental sip. Pleasure blooms through her bloodstream as the mixture of rich coffee and sweet vanilla spreads across her tongue, sluices down her throat, disbelief flickering through her chest. He still remembers her preferred coffee order too.

Ever since she had caused them to fall apart before they could even begin, she had been drinking her coffee black.

"You okay, Beckett?"

Her eyes jerk from the perfectly made cup of coffee cradled in her palms to the concerned gaze staring back at her.

"Yeah, it's just… been awhile since I've had a good cup of coffee."

"Couldn't figure out how to work the espresso machine on your own, huh?" he teases, clicking the burner off and retrieving another plate from an overhead cabinet, depositing a stack of pancakes bathed in butter and syrup onto it before handing the dish to her.

Kate arches her brow, but his eyes narrow on her, stern, and she huffs, takes the plate from his hand and snags one of the sets of knives and forks he's already laid out on the countertop.

"Mm, not necessarily," she muses, strolling towards the tiny breakfast nook a few feet away and taking a seat.

Castle follows after her, plopping down across from her with his plate and beginning to cut his small tower of pancakes into neat squares. The round, elegant little bistro table that makes up the nook is positioned in front of one of the many windows that compliment the spacious, luminescent apartment, and the sunshine from outside falls perfectly on Castle, bathes him in light that illuminates his skin, shimmers through his hair and brightens the sapphires of his eyes.

"What then?" he asks, popping a bite of syrup-slathered pancake into his mouth, but tilting his head at her in question.

Kate sighs, her lips threatening to curl upwards around her coffee mug once again as she takes another sip, savoring the flavor on her tongue. "No one makes it like you do."

The motion of his jaw comes to a halt, his chewing paused, and Beckett trains her gaze on her pancakes, focusing all of her concentration on cutting a perfectly bite-sized piece until the stillness from across the table disappears.

"I'll keep making you coffee," he murmurs, spearing another dice of pancake with his fork and Beckett summons the courage to meet the eyes she can feel resting on her, waiting on her.

But looking up at him, recognizing the naked hope emerging from its hiding place amidst the deep lines carved into his skin, gleaming in the paled blue surface of his eyes - it breaks her heart, ignites the urge to abandon her place across the table in favor of going to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and chanting apologies into his skin, into his mouth.

"Good," she gets out, allowing herself the indulgence of reaching for his unoccupied hand, breathing out in relief when his fingers unfurl, welcome hers with their embrace. "Because I think I'll need at least a year's worth to start with."

His hand tightens around hers, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, and she flexes her fingers, twines their digits and feels her heart flutter, tickling the cage of her ribs with the feathers of its wings when he begins dusting his thumb back and forth along the path of her knuckles. "I think we can make that happen."

* * *

Holding Kate Beckett's hand is one of the most pleasant sensations he's ever experienced. Yes, there have been instances in the past where he had been granted the same opportunity, but those were brief and miniscule, nothing in comparison to now. Now, Kate laces their fingers and grazes her thumb along his skin, tracing indiscernible patterns, even while they're in public, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. As if they've been doing this forever.

Like now, as she leads him through the lobby of the airport hotel she had booked a room in yesterday upon her arrival in Paris, her hand is secure in his, their fingers locked and their palms kissing. It has him giddy, still cautious, but eager nonetheless. Because only an hour ago she had sat at his kitchen table, wearing his clothes, sharing pancakes and coffee with him, and implying that she intends to be in his life for the next year. Though, after the past 24 hours, Castle is already determined to keep her at his side for far longer than a single year.

"I didn't really unpack," Kate informs him after a quick ride in the elevator to the second floor, retrieving her room key from her back pocket with her free hand. "So I just need to grab my suitcase, check out, and we'll be good to go."

"Where do you want to go?" he blurts, thoughtlessly, and manages to evoke a puzzled glance from the woman attached to him from the hand.

"With you?" she answers, curving an eyebrow at him even though the response leaves her lip like a question, but he chuckles, shaking his head.

"I meant, in Paris," he clarifies, reluctantly releasing her hand once they reach her room to allow her the freedom to open the door. "There has to be a few sights you're dying to see."

"Oh, well, I didn't really think about that," she murmurs, nudging the door open with her shoulder and allowing it to swing shut once he steps inside after her. "I had only focused on the reason for coming, almost forgot about the location entirely, but uh, what would you suggest? You've been here a month, right? So you must have some favorite spots."

It takes him a moment to get past the fact that _he_ is that 'reason for coming', but once he does, he's left floundering, not sure how to tell her he's spent a month in one of the most beautiful cities in the world moping.

"I actually haven't done any sight seeing while I've been here," he confesses, rubbing at the back of his neck while Kate bends to grab her suitcase from the opposite side of the still made bed. She shoots him a confused look as she hauls the carryon sized amount of luggage onto the mattress, unzipping the baggage and flipping it open.

"What have you been doing this entire time?" she inquires, digging through the haphazardly folded clothes and pushing the plastic bag of toiletries tossed in the middle of the pile out of the way.

"Resting?" he offers, but her lips curl into a frown even while her gaze remains on the mission at hand of searching through her suitcase. "It's been - not the best year and being in New York was starting to feel suffocating, so I referred to my bucket list for travel plans."

Kate's fingers coil around a bundle of fabric, but her lips are pursed as she stands up straight and zips her suitcase back up, dropping the small assortment of clothing on the bed.

"Okay," she accepts, stepping away from the bed, coming for him instead. Her hands drift forward to latch around his wrists, her thumbs grazing the bones there while she looks up at him with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. "Then how about we fix that?"

"Oh?" he murmurs with intrigue, breaking free of her hold on his wrists to feather his hands up her arms, cupping the sharp juts of her elbows. They fit well in the cushions of his palms. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Explore Paris with me," she grins, shy around the pin of her teeth, her eyes bright hazel and searching his face, investigating for evidence of his response. "Let's go to all of the best tourist spots, experience the city together."

He hangs on her every word, but especially the last, the way _together_ twines so beautifully around her tongue.

"Okay," he agrees, would agree to anything she wanted right then, especially when it results in the wide, teeth-bearing smile she shares with him.

"Okay." Kate slips from his grasp and reaches for the clothing left on the hotel bed. "Let me just change into some fresh clothes and we'll go."

And just like that, he's on the cusp of an adventure through Paris with Kate Beckett.


	6. Chapter 6

Packing for Paris had been a frenzied process, yet somehow, her favorite sundress had ended up in the pile of clothes hastily thrown into her suitcase. She had never expected to wear the pretty, purple fabric that flows to her knees for him, the article of clothing making it into her carryon on a hopeful whim, but as she exits the bathroom, returning to the writer waiting patiently on her bed, she's grateful to the part of her that had been hopeful enough to snag the dress before she had dashed to the airport.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, soft wonder spreading in his eyes while the smile spreads across his lips, contagious and turning her cheeks pink.

"Thanks, Castle," she replies, folding her clothes from earlier and slipping them into her bag before hefting it from the mattress, extending the handle and glancing to him for confirmation. "Ready?"

Rick pops up from the bed, a slight spring in his step as he heads for the door, holding it open for her with a dopey grin that she yearns to kiss. But they're taking this slow, working their way back to the friendship they once had that she almost singlehandedly destroyed, and smudging her smile to his would likely defeat the purpose of proving she can wait as long as he needs.

"So did you pick a place to visit first?" she asks on the short walk to the elevator.

"Well," he begins, retrieving his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. "I looked up the best places to visit while in Paris and the Notre-Dame Cathedral seems to be at the top of the list, along with the Eiffel Tower, of course, and the Louvre."

"Which is right outside your apartment," she reminds him, purposely bumping his shoulder as they board the elevator.

"Yes, so we can either go there first, after we drop off your stuff, or last when we head back in for the evening," Castle answers, pointedly avoiding the gentle reprimand in her words. But really, one full month in Paris and he hadn't even been to the landmark just outside his current home?

Then again, she isn't allowed to judge, still fully unaware of his reasons for holing up inside for so long. After all, had she not done the same in her father's cabin, for three whole months?

Kate brushes her fingers along his in a silent request, needing the renewed the connection, and instantly earning the invitation of his hand and the claiming lace of his fingers, the meeting of his palm to hers once more. This may be a step ahead of the relationship they had a year ago, but Castle doesn't seem to mind the advance in progress.

"Notre-Dame first," she hums, skimming the pad of her thumb along the nail of his. "It's not far from your hotel. We can walk, then just-"

"Explore the city together, save the Eiffel tower and all of the other majestic landmarks for tomorrow?" he finishes, and this may be more than they're both used to as well, and the elevator is about to open for them, but Kate leans into his side, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and reveling in the solid warmth beneath the thin fabric of his plaid button down.

Castle stiffens at first, his head jerking towards her in surprise, but before she can pull away, offer him a murmured apology, his cheek finds rest atop her head, remaining there until the elevator doors slide open and he lifts to smudge a fleeting kiss to her crown.

He's still angry with her beneath the surface, still wary and wounded, she hasn't forgotten any of that, but her heart is brimming with an overwhelming amount of hope while she keeps a firm grip on his hand and he takes a step forward, out of the elevator and towards the front desk for her to check out. They are still timid, still tentative, but he's giving her a second chance and she's going to make the most of it.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

"It's stunning," she breathes as they approach the glorious cathedral, joining the small group of other tourists congregating into a line at the massive church doors.

Castle follows her gaze, of course, absorbing the exquisite architecture, the breathtaking details carved and sculpted into each individual piece of stone. He has seen the cathedral during his stay, has even taken a few trips inside hoping to rediscover a peace he no longer possessed, desperate for some form of sanctuary, but never has he truly taken the time to show the monument the appreciation it deserves, demands.

Kate wiggles her fingers free of his, leaving his palm a bit sweaty from the heat of sealed skins in the summer air and empty, but before he can internally panic, her arm is looping through his, her side drifting in closer to graze along his.

"I like the gargoyles," he comments, feeling his lips twitch in automatic response to her gentle laugh at his side. He hadn't actually meant to voice the observation, to leave any clues to the sudden attachment that blooms at the sight of one gargoyle in particular that he recognizes in the distance from past visits. The stone creature who is poised on the edge of an arch with his chin cradled between his hands, his wings drawn back, a bored expression chiseled into his face as he gazes unseeing at the city below. Waiting, Rick thinks fits the mood of the carved creature well. Sorrowful and damned to an eternity of waiting.

Yeah, he could relate. Though, at the time, Castle hadn't exactly been sure of what he had been waiting for.

"They do add to the gothic theme," Beckett concedes, shifting forward with him when the line begins to move, but her gaze remains intent on the grand façade, the awe that consumes her eyes far more beautiful than even the most gorgeous century old magnificence the monument before them holds. "We could go to the top if you want, see them up close and personal."

Huh, he hadn't done that yet actually, and experiencing the beauty of the views from so high above, witnessing the exterior of the cathedral so intimately, definitely appeals to him. Even more so if he's doing it with Kate.

"After the tour?" he suggests as they approach the guard manning the entrance and Beckett nods, offering him another one of those beaming smiles that almost has him questioning if the past year ever even existed.

Security clears them after a only a brief once over, allows them into the cathedral, and he doesn't have to see her to hear the way it steals her breath all over again, drenches her in that admirable wonder. He understands it, shares it, humbled by the history that lines every square inch, the hard work and dedication that went into creating such an impeccable, architectural masterpiece.

"Thank you," she murmurs suddenly, retrieving him from his regard of the church and breaking off from the flow of the crowd, standing to the side with him against an empty pew, but Castle stares back at her in confusion.

"For coming to see the Notre-Dame with you?"

"Well, yeah," she hedges, releasing his arm to smooth her fingers down the skirt of her dress. His new, absolute favorite dress. "But for everything else too. For being there last night, for - for giving me a chance."

The stream of tourists is trickling along without them, off to explore the spectacular imagery and vast history the colossal building has to offer, but it all fades from his attention in favor of the woman standing shy and anxious in front of him.

"Castle, after my mom was killed, something inside me changed. It's like I built up this wall inside and I don't know… I thought I needed to close her case, to put it to rest in order for that wall to come down."

Oh, oh… so this is how she's going to let him down easy, isn't it? Take him to one of the most beautiful places in the world and gracefully leave his heart to bleed out on the gleaming tile of the floor.

Kate must catch sight of the uninhibited frown that carves itself into his lips, must sense the way he's attempting to close himself off from her, shut down all of the treacherous muscles and veins that attribute to the beat of his heart where she's concerned. Stupid, so stupid he had been to wear his heart on his sleeve again after everything she's put him through, only to have her steal it once more and crush it in her bare hands. But she must notice the change, because she reaches for him, her hands rising up to glide along his jaw, her palms lying along his cheek as her fingers curl at his ears, holding him there.

"I always thought you were outside of it, that if I ever wanted to let you in, I'd have to break it down brick by brick," she tries to explain, the clarification, or the excuse, coming out rushed. "But I didn't."

Great. He's heartbroken and utterly lost.

"I don't know when it happened," Kate continues, skimming her thumb back and forth over his temple, and he hates it, hates how his traitorous body leans into her touch, craving it like a starved beast. "But whatever walls I have, you've been on the inside of them this entire time. I just… I couldn't see that until I lost you, until I almost lost everything."

Her words from yesterday – has it really been a mere day? – flood back into his mind, the mental picture of her hanging from the edge of a building, fighting for her life, crowding his brain.

"And yeah, after my shooting, after learning there were people coming after me, I thought keeping you away would be best. I could accept that I was going to die, but-"

"Kate," he chokes, can't help it, gripping her shoulders too roughly in his trembling hands, drawing her in closer and watching the golden light from the dim illumination of the cathedral reflect in her eyes.

"Not you too," she rasps, clearing her throat, but it does no good, doesn't help the moisture blurring the gold of candlelight flickering in her irises. "I know I did a horrible job of showing it, Castle, but you mean too much to me for that. And I don't know if I'm safe now, if they'll still come for me after what happened with Maddox, but I didn't want it to end without you knowing the truth."

"Truth?" he repeats, loosening the fingers bruising the bare skin of her arms, grazing his thumbs along the exposed, sculpted bones of her shoulders in apology. Kate takes a shuddering breath, the air leaving her lungs to fan out across his throat, but yet another memory from the day before flashes in his mind, breaches his lips before hers can open. "Say it back to me," he states dumbly, echoing more of her words. "You meant-"

"What you said in the cemetery," she whispers on a nod, casting her eyes downwards, pursing her lips, before lifting her gaze back to his with determination flaring like rings of fire around her pupils. "But I won't say it until you're ready to hear it."

"Beckett-"

"We should go," she murmurs, flicking her eyes past his shoulder. "Catch up to the rest of the group on the tour."

Kate begins to unwind from him, her fingers uncoiling from his ears, trickling down his cheeks, but Castle splays his hands at the uncovered wings of her shoulders, cradles the defined angles of bones in his palms while he leans in, brushes his lips to hers. Softly, at first, he breathes a kiss against the parted petals of her lips, but Kate rises on the toes of her ballet flats, meets the press of his mouth with her own and sends a shower of dazzling sparks raining through his blood, cleansing his soul.

Their kiss is brief, gentle and nothing more than the delicate caress of lips, and she lowers back to the soles of her shoes a second later, a subtle blush claiming her cheeks, but it feels like more. It feels like new beginnings, like resurrection; it's enough to have him feeling made anew.


	7. Chapter 7

She isn't sure if it's the serene beauty of the Notre-Dame that's washed over her or the after effects of sharing her first real kiss with Castle in a holy place that has her aching to commit to a new form of worship, has her spilling over with joy throughout the rest of their journey through the cathedral. Kate embraces the newfound jubilation, lets it course through her veins, override the ache in her side and the tug of the scar between her breasts.

Castle recognizes the shift - of course he does - grinning at her, quiet and delighted, as they continue along the tourist-designated path through the cathedral, keeping closer to her than ever before. They separate at times, each drifting away towards a sight of interest, but Castle always comes for her if she lingers too long reading a certain sign or inscription, hovers a hand at her waist as he reads over her shoulder while she ghosts along his side if he becomes absorbed in one of the many displays in the treasury. They've developed a sort of elastic effect within the last day, one that has probably existed all along if she's being honest with herself; they always snap back to one another somehow, can never stray too far, and if she has faith in anything, she believes it's this. Them.

"Still want to go to the towers and the crypt?" Castle offers once their hour long tour through the inside of the cathedral has come to an end and they've circled back to the main chapel.

She wants to say yes, yearns to extend their adventure for another hour or two, but her incision scar is starting to protest, only a dull throb now, but warning her of its inevitable reckoning. The hint of jetlag and lack of lunch isn't helping.

"Tomorrow?" she suggests, hopeful, relieved when the disappointment she had expected to flare in his eyes is nowhere to be found.

"Sure," he agrees, all too happily, and how wonderful of a change it is to make Richard Castle happy after causing him misery for so long. "Did you want to go somewhere for dinner or order in from the apartment?"

"Either is fine," Kate murmurs, walking out with him onto the pavement busy with life, but Castle turns to her despite the sea of people milling around them, looks her over with a critical eye.

"How is your side feeling?" he asks, lifting a hand between them and grazing his knuckles over the tender spot he must have memorized by now.

Beckett huffs and swats his hand away. "Well enough to go to dinner."

The suspicion doesn't leave the narrowed slits of his eyes, but he doesn't push it, suggests a restaurant nearby that he claims he's dined at before and enjoyed. Kate shrugs her agreement and follows him across the bridge over the Seine, strolling hand in hand with him towards a pleasant little café with a bright red awning extending from the building's exterior.

Part of her expects Castle to enter the restaurant and earn a warm welcoming from the staff or an owner, as she's witnessed so many times in the past, but when they step inside, her former partner approaches the main counter like anyone else would, politely requests a table from the host and is lead to one of the few empty booths near the back with her in tow. It's different, an unexpected side to him, but she's beginning to truly learn that there is more to Richard Castle than the exterior she had barely scratched the surface of in the past.

"This okay?" he asks once they're seated and have two orders of water on the way, and he hides it well, but Kate can see the hesitance brimming behind his eyes, the uncertainty he conceals with a mask of indifference she isn't quite as familiar with.

Beckett nods, snaking her hand across the wooden tabletop, over the checkered placemat to sweep her fingertips along the back of his hand, hooking her thumb atop his and stretching her fingers out to skim his metacarpal. "I like it. Almost like a French version of Remy's."

Castle's lips bloom into a smile.

"You never let me hold your hand in Remy's," he murmurs, diverting his gaze to the fingers draped over his, but his mouth is still quirked into a crooked grin, the slits of his eyes visible through the fringe of his lashes a brilliant blue.

"I never let you hold my hand, period," she tosses back, wiggling her fingers, chuckling when he flexes his, traps her digits against his palm.

"Once," he quips, tracing the bone of her thumb with the pad of his own, a momentary flash of remorse flickering like a shadow across his face, a memory of the case that must still haunt him filling the air around them with the weight of tension, but she squeezes his hand, brings him back to the present, and the darkness quickly dissipates. "I like these circumstances better."

Their waiter approaches with their waters and a notepad and Kate has yet to even glance at the menu, hasn't determine what to order from the wide assortment of French cuisine, but she spares another second to tighten her tangled grip on his hand again. To ensure her words with her touch.

"Me too, Castle," she sighs, her lips stretching at the spark in his eyes, that joy that she thinks she may want to spend the rest of her life igniting. "So much better."


	8. Chapter 8

Never before in his few times of eating here had Castle noticed the amount of mirrors hanging on the walls. It isn't an uncommon decoration, especially for restaurants, but they're only halfway through their meal and he's beginning to notice how much Kate seems to dislike them. He doesn't quite understand it, has never seen her react negatively to any form of reflective surface before, but practically every time she lifts her gaze from her plate, she flinches.

"Do you want me to request a different table?" Castle inquires, concern bubbling in his chest at the white knuckled grip she has on her silverware.

Kate's eyes jerk up from her barely touched plate and his worry grows at the sight of her dilated pupils, the way they can't remain focused on him for very long. She had been fine when they'd arrived, sitting across from him with a languid smile stretched across her lips while their fingers had flirted over the menu, but that behavior seems like it belongs to another person entirely now. The woman in front of him is not the Kate who had spent a relaxing day with him in a stunning cathedral, kissing his lips and soothing his doubts; this is a woman who is terrified.

But of _what_?

"Kate," he murmurs, abandoning his fork to reach for her hand, cradling her fingers even as they shake against his. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just-"

Her eyes flutter around the room, scanning, and he follows the line of her gaze, a snap of clarity echoing through his skull the moment the restaurant's door swings open and the glint of sunlight reflects off one of the mirrors, has her shoulders jerking as if she's preparing for impact.

The sight has even his breath hitching, his pulse strengthening to a gallop that has his lungs working too hard, the scent of her blood in his nose, the gushing heat of it on his hands because he couldn't reach her quick enough-

"Come here," he breathes, half rising from his seat to coax her up from her own, listening to her huff in response, but it's weak, resembling a wheeze more than a sound of annoyance, and Kate slides out from her side of the booth, led by the tug of his hand until she's slipping into the empty space of worn leather beside him.

It's a bit of a tight fit, but Rick doesn't mind the firm press of her thigh to his, the reassuring brush of her arm glancing along his side, but she's trembling, her breathing harsh, and he hopes that somehow, he can bring her back from the brink of a panic attack.

"Beckett, hey," he mumbles, orientating his body towards her in the snug booth, shielding her from the rest of the diner. "Focus on me for a second."

Castle watches her throat bob with a rough swallow, but her eyes dart up to meet his once more, clinging to his gaze. "This - this is stupid," she gets out, blinking furiously against the panic and the tears swarming the corners of her eyes. "I'm fine, we're in Paris, it's not – no one is coming, but I-"

"I know," he assures her, his heart twisting, snagging painfully on his ribcage when her fingers rise, push hard to a place in the middle of her sternum that he's never actually seen. But he knows what's there, can picture the raised flesh of a bullet scar embedded into her skin all too clearly. "It's okay."

"It's not," she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut, shaking her head against it all. "Castle, it's not."

He can hear her breathing speeding up again, growing irregular, so he reaches for her, cradles her into his chest when she doesn't try to break free of his hold, and shelters her from the sharp flashes of light that have snipers, gunshots, and fear crowding for attention in her mind, suffocating her.

Her arms unfurl to coil around his torso, locking securely around his ribs and fisting the back of his shirt in her hands as she buries her face in his neck, stains his skin with hot tears and the cool puffs of air spilling from her parted lips.

Castle trains his own breathing to a steady pattern, hoping that maybe it'll encourage her lungs to mimic his, to retain the oxygen she sucks in. Glancing around the room, he's grateful to see that few of the other patrons are paying attention to them, so consumed by their meals, by the joys and tragedies of their own lives, that two people huddled in a booth fighting off demons of the past is nothing out of the ordinary. The waiter does offer him a concerned look from another table, but Castle gives the other man a light shake of his head, flicks his eyes to their table in askance for the bill.

Kate takes a deep breath, her ribs extending beneath his hand and Castle rubs soothing circles over her back, anchoring her there with the weight of his outstretched palm to the middle of her spine.

"I'm sorry," she exhales against his collarbone and he's relieved to hear the words come out on an even breath, until he comprehends them.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he informs her, gliding one hand up the path of her vertebrae to curve at her nape, stroking his thumb over the hollow spot at the base of her skull. "How long has this been happening?"

"Since last summer," she confesses, gulping in another breath that doesn't choke her, slowly but steadily floating down from the heights of her panic attack. "Most days I have a handle on it, but sometimes it'll flare up, especially if something triggers it…"

Rick sighs and smears a kiss to her temple in apology, stuttering to a stop after his lips are already grazing her hair. It's too soon for this, too soon for gentle kisses and intimate moments, but she's in pain, radiating shame, and that has to provide some sort of free pass, right? Besides, it's his fault she had to endure the flood of memories.

"I should have realized the mirrors-"

"No," she protests, easing up from her coiled spot against his chest, but her arms remain laced around his torso, the grip of her fingers in his shirt still tight enough to tear fabric. "There was no way you could have known. I didn't even realize until it was too late."

"Regardless, I think we're about done here-"

"Castle, you haven't even finished your meal," she points out, nodding to the near empty plate of delicious Parisian food, but he merely shrugs.

"Practically full. Besides, I was saving room for ice cream. So unless you'd like to finish your plate, I'm ready to go."

The waiter chooses that moment to approach with the bill and Castle hands the man his credit card, nods when the server tells him he'll be right back in a polite, practiced English. Kate sighs, dropping her head to his shoulder for a handful of seconds and claiming another full breath through her nose, exhaling through her lips, her respiratory system back in working order and causing his skin to crackle with electricity where her breath fans at his collarbone.

"Fine," she acquiesces at last, raising her head and scraping a hand through her hair, dislodging her loose ponytail. "But when we get back to your apartment, where I left my wallet, I'm paying you back for dinner."

"And ice cream," he quips, ignoring the idea of her paying him for anything, because yeah, that's not happening.

Their waiter returns, hands Castle his card back, and wishes them a pleasant evening while Kate gracefully eases out of the booth, answering the man with a smile and a fluent French phrase rolling past her lips that has Rick stilling in his seat.

"You speak French?"

Kate smirks at him over her shoulder, extending her hand and hauling him the rest of the way out of the booth when he accepts her wiggling fingers. "Must have forgotten to mention that."

"Why am I not surprised?" he grumbles, taking a step forward, but Kate stiffens, a strange look of hurt and a hint of indignation creasing her brow.

"I wasn't trying to hide it," she murmurs, the grip of her hand loosening against his, threatening to slip away, but he still doesn't understand why she would believe… unless – oh, that would make sense. She thinks he's accusing her of keeping things from him again. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she conveniently forgot to mention-

 _Let it go, Rick._

"No, no, not what I meant," he stammers, turning his back to the door to face her, and he's aware that they're blocking one of the many paths through the maze of tables that the staff use to maneuver through the restaurant, but he just needs a second, needs to hold her gaze and make her see it when he speaks. "I was only saying it shouldn't surprise me you speak French. You know, since you've always been good with languages and – and well, it's hot and you're always surprising me with your hotness so… it fit?"

Her neck flushes, the kiss of crimson spreading up to claim her cheeks, but her laughter overshadows his embarrassment, and hers, and she lifts a hand to his chest, nudges him towards the exit with her lips threatening to crack open on a grin.

Once they're outside, immersed in the traffic filling the sidewalks and the fresh air that has the extra tension left from their rather disastrous dinner fading from her frame into the concrete, Kate drifts with him down the sidewalk until they can emerge from the ebb and flow of pedestrians.

"Sorry I jumped to conclusions," she offers, training her gaze on the Seine. "I just don't want you to think…" Her lips purse, her expression thoughtful, one he recognizes from long nights staring at dead end murder boards. "No more secrets," she states with finality, flicking her eyes back to his with resolution burning bright in hers. "No more hiding."

"Okay," Castle agrees, accommodating the stretch of her fingers against his hand, allowing her to thread their digits and embrace his palm. She's surprising him, every day, every hour, but he won't complain, won't push or prod even though his mind continues to wander back to their last fight in her living room - _You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't_ \- and how he longs to ask her a question neither of them ever had an answer to. _What are we now?_ "No more secrets."

"Good," she breathes, a tiny, relieved smile flickering across her face. "Still want ice cream?"

"Duh," he scoffs, recovering quickly, shoving thoughts of the past to the back of his mind for now and dragging her towards the best ice cream shop in the city.


	9. Chapter 9

They stroll along the river hand in hand, ice creams melting in the dying sunlight that shimmers through the water, and her palm is becoming uncomfortably warm against his, but the newfound connection of touch has her reluctant to let go. Castle takes the pressure of the decision from her, though, his hand quickly abandoning hers to fly upwards, catching a stray drop of dark chocolate trickling down the outside of his cone.

"Can't be wasteful, Beckett," he mumbles when she laughs at him for it. "This is the best ice cream in Paris."

Kate hums her consent around another stroke of her tongue to the scoop of raspberry sorbet in her cone, can't deny that this is the best frozen treat she'll likely ever experience, but she isn't sure if it's due to the quality of the ice cream they spent nearly half an hour in line for or the fact that she's enjoying it with Castle in one of the most beautiful cities on earth.

"Wanna taste mine?" he asks, offering her a tilt of his cone, and she's about to say no, decline by reflex, but the dark chocolate is pretty appealing, especially when it's from his cone.

Beckett leans into his side, licks along the rim of the cone and hums in satisfaction, savoring the sweet burst of flavor along her tongue, sluicing down her throat, and mm, he's right. Best ice cream in Paris for sure.

"Want a taste of mine?" she proposes in return, but he's silent beside her and Kate flicks her eyes to him, recognizes the rich desire consuming his gaze like blue flames as they roam from his cone to her mouth. The ink black of his pupils spills over when her tongue peeks out from between her lips, swipes a smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth, extinguishing the fire and turning his eyes to coals sparking with leftover embers.

Kate lifts her ice cream to his chin, arches her brow in question, in invitation that Castle accepts without saying a word, leaning forward and curving his lips over the bright red scoop, keeping his gaze warm and crackling on her the entire time.

"Sweet," he murmurs, no – _husks –_ and quirks his lips as he straightens beside her, reclaiming his ice cream, and how is she supposed to wait, to refrain from lifting on her toes and stealing a taste of his dessert from his own mouth when he does that? When he husks at her in a voice so low and delicious that the butterflies inhabiting her stomach turn to flames?

"Stop," she huffs, swaying into his shoulder, bumping his hip and relishing in the quiet rumble of his laughter as they begin walking once again, leisurely following the path that will guide them back to his place.

"What?" Castle questions, but he _knows_ , that smug knowledge twinkling in his eyes and teasing her.

Beckett shakes him off, turns her head towards the setting sun and its spill of colors into the sky to hide her smile. "Just finish your ice cream, Castle."

* * *

The thirty-minute walk back to his apartment simmers from laughter over shared ice cream and the unguarded joy in her eyes to quiet concentration, and it isn't long before her pace slows from her typical brisk walk to calculated steps that Kate visibly fights to control. So much activity was probably a bad idea for her side, for the vulnerable knots and stitches of muscle and tissue tangled beneath her bones, but he had hoped dinner would provide a decent intermission, allow her body a chance to recuperate. Though, after nearly hyperventilating halfway through the meal, he assumes it likely delivered the opposite effect.

"Almost there," Castle murmurs as the apartment comes into view, but Kate only nods, unable to speak through the tense set of her jaw and the harsh grit of her teeth.

Her spine is beginning to hunch forward, her body threatening to double over as it had yesterday during her climb up the stairs, and a line of sweat has broken out along her hairline, evidence of the toll a simple walk through the city has taken on her. Before her shooting, he's certain she could have accomplished the same route without breaking a sweat, remembers her mentioning her exercise regimen once or twice at work, talk of yoga and cardio routines, of running an obscene amount of miles in a day.

He wonders if she could make it a single mile now.

"What if I piggybacked you the rest of the way?" Castle suggests, those dreaded stairs that lie behind the door flashing through his mind, in their line of sight now, but Kate cuts her eyes sideways to see him, glaring incredulously.

"No," she growls, fisting her hands at her side. "I'm fine, it's just an ache, nothing I can't push through."

"Yeah, but what if you push too hard and cause more damage?" he counters. "Did Josh ever take a look, diagnose it?"

Kate huffs, brings a hand to her eyes to scrub along her brow. "I told you we broke up in the hospital, shortly after you and I last spoke, so no."

"Well, I'm not a doctor, but this kind of pain over a year after… that kind of injury isn't normal and I can't imagine-"

"You're right, Castle. You're not a doctor, so can you stop with the medical advice?" she snaps and he tries not to let the sharpness of her words cut him, tries to remind himself that she's just frustrated.

He was once well familiar with frustrated Beckett, saw her quite often during early morning body drops before he could ply her with her sacred first dose of caffeine. But at least then he was useful, could cure the irritation – now, all he can do is bear witness to it and attempt not to make it worse, which he is already failing quite spectacularly at.

They approach his apartment building in silence, the noises of the city's nightlife filling the air, reminding him a bit of New York. Paris wasn't too different from home, certain streets and buildings eliciting a flash of imagined recognition, and maybe that's why he chose the city of lights over all the other possible options splayed across the map. He had wanted to forget Manhattan and all of its memories, everything that reminded him of her, but the sick, masochistic part of him had also wanted to hold on.

And he had. Flying to another country hadn't erased her from his mind in the least. He saw her in shop windows, pictured her in the clothes displayed in the fronts of boutiques, saw her in restaurants and bookstores, in everything. She had permanently marred his vision and he had started to believe he would never rid himself of her presence.

He no longer wanted to.

Kate braces her hands on the railing of the staircase once they enter the building, but remains standing stagnant on the first step, glaring up at the elegant winding stairway and the five story length of the Parisian apartment building that offers both beauty and challenge. Castle waits at her back, doesn't speak or rush her, but after her staring match with the building comes to a stalemate and her head drops forward in defeat, Rick places a gentle hand to her waist.

"This is pathetic," she rasps, her shoulders slumping, but Castle is already stepping around her, bending his knees low enough for her to climb onto his back.

"No, it isn't. It's human, now hop on."

A long second of indecision passes before her hands are curling at the junctures between his neck and his shoulders, finding balance while the rest of her body follows, her chest draping over his back and her legs bracketing his hips. Rick covers her bare knees with his palms, coils his fingers beneath to secure a firm grip before emerging into a standing position with Kate clinging to his shoulders.

"Okay?"

"Yeah," she sighs, but her hands migrate from his shoulders, her arms carefully sliding around his neck for a better hold and resting her chin to his trapezius muscle. "Ready."

Castle ascends the first few stairs with caution, ensuring Kate will be able to hold on without issue, and hastens into a steadier pace after they're more than halfway up the 24 step walkup, never loosening his grasp on the smooth skin behind her knees.

Her grip on him starts to go slack once they reach his floor, but Castle only releases one of her knees, digging into the pocket of his jeans and unlocking the front door with Kate still attached to his back, huffing in amusement against his neck as he pushes inside the foyer and causing the fine hairs there to rise.

"Thank you for choosing Richard Castle transportation services," he grunts, bending his knees close to the ground again to allow her an effortless descent to the floor. "Please travel with us again soon."

"I have a feeling I won't have a choice in the matter," Kate chuckles while he straightens, toeing off her ballet flats by the door and popping her bared toes on the hardwood, looking so at home in his apartment, it instills an unwelcome ache in his chest, a yearning that he has tried and failed to quell and smother for too many years. "Thanks, Castle."

"Always."

The single word causes them both to stutter, has his mouth going dry and wishing he could take it back, swallow down the two syllables that have always held far too much meaning. He had promised her _always_ too many times, and he had remained true to his word, but she hadn't done the same. She had said it, claimed to be a 'one writer girl', smiled at him and spoke the word as if she meant it.

She had lied.

"I - you should lie down," he mumbles, waving a hand towards the couch and then the guest bedroom, whichever she wants. "I'll be in my room if you need anything."

"Castle-"

"It's getting late," he states without looking at her, already turning away from Beckett and towards the safety of his bedroom. He hadn't planned to retire to his room this early, had planned to stay up for a couple more hours with her, maybe lounging on the couch, sharing wine and conversation, but now… now he just needs some time without her. "And I'm really tired."

His fingers have curled around the door handle, pushed it open, almost there-

"Rick," she calls, her voice that uneven, pleading sound, but he refuses to look, to see the beautifully pained expression decorating her face, so he merely pauses, waits. "Until tomorrow?"

Damn her.

"Until tomorrow," he confirms, stealing inside his room before his traitorous eyes can turn on him, land on her and convince him to stay.


	10. Chapter 10

Maybe it's the six hour time change, maybe it's the remorse that comes with hurting him without even trying, but Kate lies in bed awake for hours after he's shut himself inside his own bedroom, staring at the ceiling and thinking back, retracing the steps of their partnership, soothing the throb of her scar with the weight of her fingertips through the regret that comes with the recollection of how it all fell apart. How she had broken it.

The incision scar on her side tightens, deciding to join in with the pulse of the bullet wound above her heart to constrict her breathing, tugging harshly despite how she lies flat and still in the bed, gritting her teeth through the currents of pain.

They eventually pass, just like always, before she can be dragged into the undertow, and Kate exhales in relief, attempts to swallow past the lump in her throat that has little to do with the physical pain lancing up and down her ribcage, playing the bones like a xylophone.

Her entire body seizes again when the door handle jiggles softly, but then Castle appears, sleepy and bed rumpled in the moonlit darkness of the doorway, and for the first time in the hours since they parted ways, she can take a deep breath without a splice of ache and agony through her chest.

"Beckett, you're still awake?" he whispers, confusion prominent and quite adorable as it twists his expression into a puzzled frown.

"Still on New York time," she lies, easing up onto her elbows, biting her lip at the wince the simple action elicits. She's so damn tired of feeling fragile, of having to premeditate every move before she makes it, but weak muscles and scar tissue have become her normal in the last year and she fears she'll never recover, never know any other way of living. But she fails to accept it, still fights with the hope that one day the ever present ache will somehow dissipate. "What're you doing up?"

"I - bathroom," he explains, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom, where she knows an en suite exists. Doesn't explain why he's in her room now. "Came to check on you, your scar."

"Oh," she murmurs, a little disappointed, but what had she expected? That he had missed her? Wanted to see her after the unexpected ripple of tension and sorrow a single word that used to offer promise and commitment now elicits? "It's fine, just tugging."

Castle shuffles further into her room at that, slipping through the door and rubbing at the sleep clouding his eyes like a little boy unwillingly awoken. "Need me?"

Her heart stutters. "Yes?"

Castle plops down onto the edge of her bed and lifts his hand to her side, gently splaying the warmth of his palm over her scar and… he meant to repeat the process of soothing her snarled insides with innocent body heat as he had the night before. She knew that.

"Castle, you don't have to sit here with me," she sighs, staring up at him from her pillow as he sits too far away, his eyes drooping with fatigue and his hand heavy on her abdomen.

"Don't want you to hurt," he yawns, brushing his thumb back and forth over the bottom rung of her ribs, waking the treacherous butterflies that tickle along her intestines. "I'll just stay a few minutes."

"Then at least get comfortable before you topple over," she bargains, shifting sideways on the mattress, offering him extra space. He hesitates for only a moment before scooting closer, arranging his back to rest against the headboard while the length of his body borders hers, his hand remaining glued to the line of her scar.

Every part of her gravitates towards him by reflex, her torso and abdomen pressing snug against the firm plane of his thigh, her head rolling sideways to graze the length of his outstretched arm with her nose, one of her hands rising of its own volition to cover the broad palm resting below her ribs. She is bad for him, so bad for him, and it showed, but she needs this.

Kate's eyes flutter closed, her focus zeroing in on the aroma of his scent seeping into her borrowed sheets and the pleasant hum of his presence beside her. Minutes pass like that, quiet and swirling with peaceful appreciation, and Castle must believe she's drifted to sleep, because the hand not draped along the side of her abdomen emerges from its resting place atop his stomach, slips into her hair.

His fingers trail along her scalp, so slow and reverent it has her on the stinging verge of tears behind closed eyes, his thumb scaling her ear, the sensitive flesh behind it that has an involuntarily shudder trickling down her spine. His hand pauses in her hair, but when her eyes remain shut, her breathing steady, his gentle ministrations continue until they grow sluggish before halting all together.

She falls to sleep with his hands anchoring her, one cradling the back of her skull while the other calms the riot beneath her ribcage, taming the beast back to its dull roar.

* * *

Castle stretches awake, wincing at the strip of sunlight that blinds his eyes and the crackle and pop that reverberates through his spine, but after sleeping with his shoulder propped against the headboard of the guest bed, he isn't surprised by the stiffness lining his limbs. And the former detective draped at his side must be responsible for the unpleasant tingling sensation zipping up and down his thigh, where Kate has somehow managed to curl.

He remembers how he got here, though he hadn't intended to stay, definitely hadn't intended to fall asleep in her bed. He had merely wanted to check on her, like any good host would, but when he had fought through the grit of sleep clogging his eyes, smearing his vision, and seen the tense set of her bones beneath the sheets, the misery subtle but sharp as it filled the deepened lines of her face, he hadn't been able to just leave.

He doesn't want to leave now, but his leg is asleep beneath her and the tingling has turned to piercing throbs that he won't be able to withstand for much longer.

Castle flexes his toes, hopes to alleviate some of the tension, but _ow_ , no, that only made it worse. Maybe he can just slide from beneath her, smoothly slip from the mattress without waking her – yeah, that could work. And it does work, at first, his body easing without trouble from beneath her, eliciting nothing more than a curl of her fingers at his hip, but she remains immersed in the embrace of slumber.

That is, until he miscalculates and slides right off the bed and onto the floor with a loud thump.

"Castle?" He hears her slur with confusion, the mattress dipping above him just before her head appears over the edge, staring down at him, drenched in sleep and bewilderment. "How did you get there?"

Rick huffs up at her, rubbing his fingers to his throbbing tailbone as he sits up. "Fell off the bed."

"Why didn't you just move me over if you needed more room?" she questions, her voice a lovely rasp that he wouldn't mind hearing more of, shifting backwards, leaving more than enough room for him to lie down comfortably, but sharing a bed with her had never been a good idea in the first place, it had been accidental last night, but this… this would be deliberate.

Kate is already lowering back to her pillow, though, her eyes in slits trained on him as she waits, and he sighs, never really had a chance of making the right choice.

Castle picks himself up off the floor and crawls back into the bed, keeping a safe few inches of empty sheet space between them. Beckett doesn't seem to mind, her lips quirking while her eyes shutter closed.

"Don't let me sleep so late today," she mumbles. "Want to see the city with you."

She isn't looking, so he lets his smile break free, splitting his lips wide and piercing through his cheeks. "It's still early, Beckett. But I'll wake you up in a few hours, don't worry."

"M'kay," she breathes, the hand curled at her chest stretching outwards, towards him, but falling limp before it can reach him. So he meets her halfway, turns on his side and holds her hand, watches her chest rise and fall with the proof of her steady breathing, studying her face at peace without stress or the hints of anguish he's seen far too much of in the last two days.

He studies her for a long time, memorizes her, even dares to graze the tips of his fingers along her skin, caressing the hollows of her cheeks, the curves of her eyebrows. The burn of missing her swells up, but he's able to tamper it down this time, able to subdue the grief with its required remedy. Her, right in front of him.

Kate Beckett had ripped his heart to shreds last summer, but within the time span of 48 hours, she's managed to glue most of the pieces back together, and with her dedication, his anger, his resentment, had been eradicated. They may still need more time to test these new, unexplored waters, but he's ready to dive in when she is.

He's ready to hear her say it back.


	11. Chapter 11

Castle is no longer in her bed when her eyes slide open later that morning, but when her fingers travel over the empty sheets he had occupied, she finds them still warm, still ripe with his presence. And the scent of coffee is in the air.

Kate stretches in the bed and grins past the sharp pang in her side, careful but embarrassingly eager as she slips her legs from beneath the sheets and eases her way to the edge of the mattress, bracing herself for the morning greeting of pain when she rises. But while the flames still lick along her insides, their intensity is less grueling, easier to ignore. She smothers the hope before it can bloom, refuses to believe the damage that's claimed the majority of her abdomen, her sternum, is receding. Since arriving in Paris and reuniting with Castle, she's been able to sleep a little better, the nightmares seemingly subdued for now, and her body must appreciate the unusual eight hours of rest the last two nights have consisted of.

The thermal therapy of his hand may have something to do with it as well, but a warm touch and extra sleep are not enough to heal.

Beckett ignores the argument swirling in her mind and shuffles for the bedroom door that is cracked from his departure, exiting the guest room on bare feet and biting her bottom lip at the sight of him in the living room, standing at the floor to ceiling window with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. She wants to wake up to images like this every day, yearns to emerge from her bedroom - or his - to find him awake and savoring the solitude of the mornings or already concocting an elaborate breakfast in the kitchen. Or better yet, lying in the bed beside her.

Castle doesn't seem to sense her presence, so Kate maintains the element of surprise, padding softly since she has lost the ability to tiptoe, and ghosting behind him until she reaches his back, can graze her fingers down his spine to fan out between his shoulder blades.

He startles, but doesn't jump or jerk away from her, his coffee remaining safely inside his cup even as it sloshes precariously along the rim. The smile he offers surprises her, still subdued, not up to its full potential, but spreading across his lips and illuminating his entire face. "Look at you, up before noon."

Kate rolls her eyes at the quip, drops her cheek to the rounded edge of his shoulder and bites back her smirk when his throat bobs with a thick swallow. He's still not used to this kind of behavior from her, the small touches that feel all too easy, and she doesn't blame him; she isn't accustomed to the random urges to touch either, but if he doesn't mind them, she'll dismiss the idea of trying to stop.

"Six hour time difference, Castle," she reminds him, allowing her hand to trail down the ladder of his vertebrae until her fingers are snagging in the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "That's quite an adjustment."

"Pretty sure over exhaustion has more to do with it," he counters, extending his coffee cup towards her, and her heart trips in her chest at the simple gesture. He's simply being friendly, allowing her a sip of his coffee while she's still sluggish with the effects of sleep, but it means something to her, speaks of intimacy and a level of familiarity she thought they had lost.

Kate curls her fingers around the handle of the mug before he can notice the unnecessary analyzing her mind can't seem to cease in indulging these days when it comes to him, takes a long sip of the rich brew and vanilla flavoring, humming in appreciation at the welcome taste, how it reminds her of home and daydreams of a future they never had.

"Was your work schedule still the same?" he asks and her spine stiffens at the mention of work, tension suffusing through her bones. They haven't talked about her job, about the months they were apart. Sure, they've discussed his life in the pieces and shards he would give her, his family and his writing, safe topics that couldn't evoke too much pain, but tackling the subject of what the past year has been like for her seems so much more complicated, so much darker. "Did it change at all after you went back?"

Kate sighs, hands him his cup back and withdraws from his side, stepping up to prop against the opposite side of the window instead, dividing her attention between his imploring gaze and the city beyond the glass.

"It changed," she starts, following a group of pigeons trotting along the sidewalk, searching for scraps along the cobblestone and hobbling around happily in the morning sunlight. "Mostly because of the new captain, Gates."

"You don't like her," Castle assesses, and Kate doesn't attempt to deny it. He's far too skilled in gauging her every reaction, every expression and tone of voice; there's no use attempting to hide anything anymore.

"I didn't at first," she concedes, curling her toes against the hardwood of the floor, frowning at the memories of those first few days back at the precinct after her shooting. "I don't think she liked me much either, which I can't blame her for. She knew I shouldn't have come back as soon as I did, knew I hadn't healed, and she saw right away that I wasn't going to let go of my shooting, would never back off from my mother's case."

"As if she could have stopped you," Castle scoffs, not bitter, but aware, experienced. Because if anyone knew how the obsession overtook her, consumed her and had a blind determination taking up all the space in her mind, it was him.

"No, but I did back off for a while, tried to be good," she admits, watching the group of pigeons fly away, flocking towards a fountain in the distance. "Still got into trouble for other things."

"Oh?" Castle murmurs, intrigue flaring to life in his eyes, lighting up the irises and she huffs a laugh at him for it. "Can't say I'm surprised."

Beckett nudges his shin with her foot. "It was nothing major. Just… a few times, I didn't log in where I was heading when I'd drive out to investigate a lead I wasn't supposed to be following anyway and my negligence resulted in getting trapped in a basement with a tiger once-"

He chokes on his coffee, coughing and sputtering around the gulp of caffeine caught in his throat, and Kate takes the near empty mug from his hand before it can go crashing to the floor. "You _what_?"

"Long story," she sighs, downing the last of his coffee with a smirk. "Let's just say I'm glad Ryan and Espo found me in time, despite how unhappy they were over the fact that filing location reports was instituted the next day."

"Ah, I remember Ryan complaining about that once during…" Castle's sentence trails, his throat clearing, but Kate huffs at the shame coloring his cheeks over the slip.

"I knew you and the boys kept in contact, Rick. There was nothing wrong with that," she informs him. "I was glad you did, actually."

"We tried to keep in contact." Rick shrugs, shuffling his bare feet on the floor, his lips puckering into a frown. "But it was just too much sometimes, for all of us. Too much history."

Too much history that involved her, her connection to the boys poisoning their friendship just like everything else that she came into contact with.

"You didn't show up at Ryan's wedding," she whispers, his shame gone but hers alive and spreading like lead through her bloodstream, weighing her down. "They all missed you."

"Cowardice," he explains, stealing the coffee cup she has clutched to her chest and placing it down on the windowsill. "Ryan wanted me to come, but I knew you would be there and I… God Kate, I wanted to see you, but I knew once I did I wouldn't be able to stay away."

The lump in her throat feels like shrapnel, hot and sharp, scraping her trachea raw and pricking tears in the corners of her downcast eyes.

"I had hoped you would show up," she confesses, rasps, and wraps her arms around her abdomen, phantom pain flickering in her side at the memory of that night, how she had attempted to wear heels for the first time in months and had been confined to a seat for most of the night because of it while others danced and celebrated. She hadn't wanted to dance anyway. "Most of the time, it was bearable, you know? Miserable, but bearable because of work and her case taking up all of my time. But Ryan's wedding… watching our friends getting married, seeing them so happy… you should have been there. Castle, I'm so sorry-"

"Shh," he hushes her, eliminating the feet of space between them and banding tentative arms around her shoulders, sweeping a comforting hand down her back. "Already forgiven, Kate. No need to keep apologizing."

It causes pain to tug and ripple up her side, but she lifts into him, seals the fronts of their torsos together until she can feel the pound of his heart against her own sternum and latches her arms around his waist.

"Immediate family," she reminds him, propping her chin at his shoulder. "You were part of that, still are, and I never should have made you feel excluded from it."

The argument rises in his throat, she can sense it, but he swallows it down before it can climb out of his mouth, resolution shooting up to replace it. "Make it up to me then."

Kate pulls back, just far enough to see his face, to try and understand, already feeling the hesitation blooming with the nerves in the pit of her stomach.

"How?"

He cocks his head to one side, twists his features into a thoughtful expression, but he already knows what he wants, she can see it gleaming in the bright cerulean of his eyes.

"Dance with me, like you would have at Ryan's wedding."

The smile spills across her lips, tender and unbidden, uncontrollable, and she dusts her fingers at the small of his back. "Who says I would have danced with you at all?"

"Oh, Beckett, I would have convinced you to dance with me in no time," he says without a doubt and she believes it, can picture him coaxing her onto the dance floor all too clearly.

"Maybe," she appeases, retracting her arms from his waist to claim the hand he holds out to her, the other draping at the jut of her hip. "Probably wouldn't have been able to dance at all, to be honest."

Questions fill his eyes before understanding quickly kicks in, his gaze sliding to her chest, down to her side, but he merely shrugs in response.

"I could have let you dance on my feet, want to try?"

"No," she chuckles, curling her arm at his neck and submerging her fingers in the soft hairs at the base of his skull, combing through the fine strands as he begins to sway them back and forth. "This works."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his thumb following the slow, simple rhythm he's set, brushing back and forth over the bone of her hip, maddening and comforting all at once. "I'm assuming a dip is out of the question?"

"Unless you want me stuck in that position-"

"Could be interesting…"

"Castle," she warns, her fingers ghosting at his ear, her smirk growing as he dodges the fatal twist to the delicate cartilage.

"Okay, okay, we'll stick to swaying," he appeases, his voice a pitch higher, and Kate smothers her laugh in his shoulder, resting there in the embrace of his arms and the warmth of the sunlight streaming over them.

"Good, getting me stuck in an uncomfortable dance pose once was more than enough," she grumbles, waiting for him to catch her train of thought, the memory now years old. Their first dance, a gorgeous gown, and Richard Castle's body pressed against hers for the first time.

Castle laughs, loud and surprised, and her mouth cracks open, her smile stretching wide at the sound of the sheer joy the bellow of his laughter contains.

"Oh yeah, that was when you thought you hated me," he chuckles, gliding his fingers from her hip to the small of her back, caressing the dip in her spine as if to remind her how much she _doesn't_ hate him now.

"Thought?" she scoffs, flicking his shoulder with her fingers. "I _knew_ I hated you then. You were an ass."

Castle gasps in mock offense, jerking his head back to stare down at her with dramatic indignation that has her arched eyebrow weakening, that stupid smile she can't seem to tamper down quivering at the edges of her lips.

"You still wanted me," he points out, the smug grin he uses for the tabloids skating across his mouth, and she wants to punish him for it, wipe it from his face with the touch of her tongue, the work of her teeth. "For my body at least."

"Maybe," she shrugs, earning another gasp, the sound gleeful this time, and Beckett rolls her eyes. But it's good, this moment – it's _him_. Funny and playful and no longer holding back, afraid to say the wrong thing or allow to her see past the mask that had been firmly in place three days ago. This is the Castle she knows, the man she fell in love with; she had feared the damage she had done to his heart had been irreparable, but this gives her hope. Not only for his heart, but for hers.

"Katherine Beckett," he tisks, shaking his head in reprimand, but her chest is trembling with giddiness, threatening to send a totally inappropriate giggle up her throat. "Hey, what would Gates have thought of me?"

The suppressed laughter dies in her larynx.

"Would she have let me stick around, be your partner?"

"I'm sure the boys told you what she was like," Kate murmurs, but he still awaits an answer, his eyebrows arced and expectant. "I don't think so, no. But… but I think together, we would have found a way to keep you on the team."

"And with the help of Mayor Weldon," he corrects. "We would have found a way to keep me on the team."

Beckett hums, toys with the collar of the t-shirt he slept in. The sun is beginning to burn brighter through the window, aiding his hands in heating her skin, and they should really get dressed, pick their destination for the day and get started while the throbbing cadence in her side is low and contained. But Castle is still swaying with her, dancing to a song she can't hear, and really, five more minutes couldn't hurt.

"I think she would have liked you, eventually," Kate muses.

"Because of my charming personality and rugged good looks?"

"Because you became an asset to our team."

"Ooh, say that again," he purrs and the giggle does breach the shoreline of her lips this time, has bursts of color flooding her cheeks next, much to Castle's apparent delight.

"Shut up," she sighs before he can tease her for it, but he doesn't, he allows the flush to cool from her skin and splays his palm wide at her back, his pinky finger grazing along the waistband of her pajama pants. "She isn't Montgomery," Kate picks up, stroking her thumb across the cord of muscle roping along the side of his neck when he swallows hard at the mention of Roy. "But I grew to respect her. Not that it matters now."

"I'm sure she'd still allow you back if that was what you wanted," Castle points out, but Kate is already shaking her head against the idea.

"No, I'm done," she states, firm and leaving no room for argument, the hand cradled in his tightening. "I resigned for a reason, Castle."

The dancing stops.

"So you can say with complete certainty that this entire trip wasn't born of an 'oh, I quit my job, I almost died, I'm in crisis' thing?" he questions, and even though his voice is light, his words cut deep, hook her insecurities and reel them to the surface, and Kate pulls away, staring up at him with the hurt swelling hard and fast against the scar between her breasts.

"That's what you think this is? That I flew out here out of spontaneity?"

"No, not necessarily," he answers, bracing his palms at the wings of her shoulder blades, staying her. "But I… I want this, Kate. I want all of it with you, but I have to know that you're on board with it too, that we're on the same page, because I…" His lips purse into a thin line and even though the words are pushing against her teeth, threatening to break past her lips, she waits, allows him the time he deserves to gather his courage and say what she needs to hear. "I can't let myself love you again if the end result is going to be the same."


	12. Chapter 12

The look on her face crushes him, makes him wish he could take the words back, but that would be going backwards and they can't afford to travel in that direction any longer. Watching the heartbreak etch and carve itself into her skin though… it almost has him wanting to ditch the idea of doing this right, just let her take whatever she wants of him and leave him to deal with the consequences some other time.

"I can't promise the end result," Kate begins, her voice fighting to remain steady, and he hates that he's the cause of it, that he can make the words tremble on their way past her lips at all. "But what you said, about wanting it all… Castle, if that's true, then we _are_ on the same page."

Relief flutters in his chest, tugs at the corners of his mouth. "We are?"

"I did not fly to Paris to come searching for you on a whim, Rick," she growls, actually _growls_ at him, and narrows her gaze, lets him see the flecks of gold like fire dancing to life in her eyes. "Nearly dying put a lot of things in perspective for me, but it did not cause me to make a reckless decision. So yes, we are. I don't think I'd still be here if we weren't."

It's all he needs to hear, more than enough to have his self-control finally vanishing, the hands already spanning her back pulling her close enough to seal his mouth over hers when he leans in, silencing her reassurances, taking them instead. Her entire body jolts with surprise, but the reflexive expectation of being pushed away is never fulfilled, the length of her melting against him instead, her lips parting at the stroke of his tongue to the seam of her mouth, all too eager to allow him entrance.

Kissing her like this, demanding and desperate and bruising her mouth with the press of his lips and the nip of his teeth, may be a mistake, a faster pace than they should be going, but Kate's moan of approval, the rise of her hands to his cheeks drawing him in closer damns all of his worries, his fears, and drenches him in the heat of her body surging against his.

They sway into the windowpane, Kate's heel kicking against the empty coffee mug on the floor and her shoulders bumping against the glass, sending her spine arching forward, whimpering at the movement and jerking him to a halt.

"Beckett-"

"No," she groans, her hands fisting at his back, twisting in his t-shirt to keep him close, but her eyes are squeezed shut. "No, don't stop."

"Kate, you're-"

Her lips smear along his jaw, her teeth nibbling on the skin, her tongue slicking over his stubble and causing his hands to clutch her waist, drag her hips to clash against his without thinking. Kate rocks forward instinctively, the friction sparking, delicious and crackling between their bodies, and _oh_ , oh they have to stop because it is definitely too soon to pin her body to the glass of the window and give her every single piece he has left.

Her body curls around him, her mouth open and hot against the throb of his pulse, her chest heaving against his as he holds her still. He can feel her heart galloping hard, rattling the cage of her ribs with every breath, and Rick dusts his lips along the shard of her cheekbone, nudges his nose to her temple. The hands at his back unfurl, drift down to catch at his hips, thumbs hooking in his pajama pants.

Her sigh against his throat is sorrowful, the kiss she stains beneath his jaw regretful, but he doesn't want that.

"We'll take it slow," he murmurs, nipping at the hinge of her jaw, relishing in the goosebumps that arise beneath his lips. "We have time. All the time we want."

Kate nods against him, dropping her forehead to rest along his cheek as her breathing finally steadies, her chest no longer rising and falling with great effort.

"This is enough," he reminds her, skimming another kiss to her cheek, the newfound privilege too good to ignore. "Enough for now."

He feels more than sees the smile blossoming shy and beautiful along her lips, spreading at his chin. "But… soon?"

"Oh yes," he breathes, chuckling at the choked sound of her laughter and squeezing the bones of her hips. "For now, let's just get dressed – separately – and head out for a late breakfast."

"Brunch sounds good," she murmurs, tilting her head back against the glass and staring up at him with hazy eyes that shimmer with lust and promise. "But before we go?"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me again."

* * *

Castle continues kissing her long after they've finally left the apartment. The remainder of their morning is spent exploring on foot, taking the twenty-minute route to Castle's favorite coffee shop and admiring the scenery Kate can only persist in marveling over. She's seen quite a few pieces of the world, specifically of Europe when it comes to foreign countries, but Paris has stolen her heart. Doesn't hurt that she's able to play into the stereotype, enjoy the city with her partner at her side and her heart ripe with happiness she is almost afraid to embrace.

Too good to be true, her mind tells her, but she stopped listening to the logical part of her brain three days ago.

"And is that the only fan encounter you've had so far?" Kate asks behind the cage of her fingers, attempting to subdue her laughter at his telling of the sole outburst of recognition he's experienced since arriving in Paris. He's been chatty since they left the apartment, regaling tales of the few smile inducing experiences he's had here in the city of lights, and she's been content to listen, content to hear his words about simple tasks and outings, trips to the grocery store with a French dictionary or the first time he tried escargot, spun like gripping stories. This tale of a fan encounter, though, is unraveling more like a cringe-worthy sitcom.

"Yes," he huffs, holding the door to the café open for her, waving to the barista who appears to recognize him. "Once was more than enough."

"Oh, it couldn't have been so bad," she teases. " _Oh mon Dieu, Richard Castle."_ Beckett coos, lifting her voice an octave higher, airier, like she imagines this Parisian bimbette he described would sound. _"P_ _uis-je vous demander un autographe sur ma poitrine_."

Castle pauses, their linked hands causing their arms to stretch between them in the middle of the cool, air conditioned café, his eyes sparkling as they scrutinize her, but the amused grin doesn't leave his lips.

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or aroused."

"For the sake of the public, I'd go with offended," Kate chuckles, tugging until he rejoins her in their trek across the chic café towards the counter, watching in amusement as he addresses the barista in broken French, orders two café crème's when Beckett nods in approval.

"Merci," Castle quips proudly after the woman has taken his order and he has swiped his credit card, stepping out of the small line with Kate to find a table.

"Impressive, Rick. Been practicing?" she praises just to see him preen, his chest puffing out while her eyes roll.

"Every day. A French dictionary will not get you far here," he informs her, cocking his head towards the clusters of tables outside in askance and Kate nods, waiting until their drink orders are called to follow him out onto the patio area.

"By the way, I had a question," Castle adds, pulling out her chair for her before slipping into his own. Kate hesitates, easing slowly into the warmed cedar wood, nerves clambering to life in her stomach. There was likely no reason for the apprehension, but the mention of questions still awakened it, still had her mind jerking to worst-case scenarios. "Did you have a return date to New York in mind?"

"Uh, not really," she murmurs, relief filling her lungs. "I know I said the decision to come here wasn't spontaneous, but the overall planning probably could have used some more thought put into it. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking," he shrugs, taking the first sip of his crème and humming with satisfaction, stalling. "I'm enjoying Paris with you."

Kate's brow furrows, but her lips still quirk upwards. "Yeah, I'm enjoying Paris with you too, Castle."

"But-"

"Uh oh," she mumbles around the rim of her mug, appreciating the first splash of espresso and steamed milk on her tongue.

" _But_ I was wondering if maybe after this week, you'd like to see more of France," he finishes, turning his eyes down to the small cup between his palms on the table. "We could rent a car, travel along the French countryside, that sort of thing? Or we can just stay here, continue enjoying Paris, I'd be happy either way. It's just a suggestion, though, not even a request, I just thought maybe you would-"

"Castle," she quiets him, abandoning her coffee to reach across the table for his hand, curling her fingers into the cradle of his. He glances up to her with uncertainty, his eyes a bright cerulean in the sunlight, flickering with trepidation, and she realizes how unnecessary it is, but Beckett grips the edge of her chair with her free hand, scoots it around the table to sit diagonal instead of perpendicular.

His eyes burn brighter.

"That sounds like a great idea," she grins, using the closer angle to lean forward, dusts a kiss to his smiling mouth.

Castle's hand rises to the nape of her neck, his palm curving there beneath the loose curls of her hair, his thumb stroking along the fresh bruise that still bloomed with sensitivity at the back of her head, where her skull had taken a nasty hit to the concrete flooring of the roof.

"Really?" he breathes against her lips, mouths brushing as he speaks, eliciting frissons of electricity to spread through her bloodstream.

"Really. I have enough vacation days to spare," she reminds him, relishing in the huff of his laughter, his lips parted with a response on his tongue, but the ring of his cellphone silences him, has him drawing away from her with an apology in his smile.

Castle fishes his phone out from the pocket of his jeans, automatically perks up at the sight of his daughter's face on the screen, but Kate struggles not to deflate.

"Hey Pumpkin," Castle greets, the smile on his face, in his voice, but not in his eyes as he notices her shift away from him.

It isn't purposeful and she certainly does not want him to think she doesn't like his daughter, but she knows Alexis doesn't like her, practically loathes her by this point, and it reminds Beckett exactly why this could all be a very bad idea. What is she thinking? Agreeing to travel across France with him when he came here to write, to recover from wounds she inflicted.

"No, no, I'm great." Kate listens to him assure while she stares down into her coffee cup, circling the rim of the mug with her fingernail, hearing the muffled chirp of Alexis's voice from the speaker. "Well, the last three days I've been doing some extra sight seeing, taking in the energy of the city and renewing my inspiration."

His hand lands on her knee at that, his palm curving over the rounded bone of bare skin, his thumb hooking underneath. Kate keeps her gaze down, but doesn't remove his hand, training all of her focus on the pleasant sensation of his touch instead.

"I'm not sure yet, honey. My bucket list said a year, remember?" he jokes, tracing the outline of Kate's patella. "I actually think after this week, I'm going to do a bit more exploring of the country, see all of the other beautiful places France has to offer. How is your summer internship going?"

Kate is grateful for the change of subject, able to hear the way Alexis launches into the topic with fervor, and while his daughter chatters on about her internship, Beckett downs the last of her coffee, gently dislodges Castle's palm from her knee, and rises from the table.

His panic is tangible, radiating from his rigid figure still in the chair to choke her, but Kate lifts a placating hand to him, nods towards the café as she makes her way to the entry. She just needs some space, away from him and the reminder of reality in the form of his daughter on the other line. She'll buy him a pastry, something rich and chocolate-filled once she's collected herself, bring it out to him and distract him with the dessert.

Of course, it doesn't work out quite that easy.

The café has a tiny bathroom that she locks herself in for a few minutes, glaring into the mirror at the tired woman in a pretty blue top that flows to her hips, merges into the white shorts that end just above her knees. She looks better – her skin healthier, less pale and waxy as it had been in New York, her hair thick and shining rather than dull and limp, her eyes brighter and no longer so lifeless. She had felt better too, aside from the immovable pain that lives within her abdomen, pulses through her chest.

She feels better, stronger, but strong enough to be good for him, for a change? Strong enough to face his daughter, his mother, all of the people she spent the last year inadvertently saddling with the baggage of her grief? They won't be as forgiving as Castle, she knows that, and she understands it, encourages it even. She wouldn't be too forgiving in their positions either. But she also knows Castle will stand up for her, have her back, and that, she thinks, is what she fears most – causing any form of rift between him and his family.

"Beckett?" His knocks are light but quick on the bathroom door and she curses under her breath, turns the sink on and splashes a some cold water to her cheeks, cools the flush of dread infiltrating her skin.

"Just a second," she calls back, twisting the nozzle for the sink off, and smoothing a hand over her abdomen, willing the agony there to remain dormant before she opens the door.

Castle takes an abrupt step back as it swings open, regarding her with caution as she emerges from the bathroom. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, how's Alexis?" Kate counters, but the hint of suspicion doesn't leave his eyes as they rejoin the rest of the café patrons. She contemplates asking him about having that pastry, but Rick is already drifting towards the exit.

"She's great, busy, worried about me," he sighs, holding the door for her and an elderly couple that are entering as they depart, giving Beckett a head start down the sidewalk. "But that's normal."

"Shouldn't be," she murmurs, crossing her arms below her breasts, but Castle nudges her with his elbow.

"Alexis has always been a worrier since she was a kid. Nothing's changed that."

"I'm sure certain things, people, have intensified it," Beckett points out, but Rick shakes his head, draws her to a stop in front of a bookstore.

"Castle, I don't-"

"I told Alexis I was here with you."

Her stomach drops out, her heart clenching in horror and her hands threatening to shake as she lifts them to bury her face in her palms. It doesn't matter if she's strong enough to face his daughter, whether she's ready or not; he's taken the time to prepare from her.

"Why would you do that?" Kate grinds out from behind the barrier of her hands, feeling one of Castle's curl at her wrist, tugging her palm away, but her fingers form a fist.

"Because she said I sounded better," he states, his voice soft, reasoning, but she can barely hear it through the blood rushing in her ears with the panic. "So she asked if I had met someone. I know we haven't talked about this, but I didn't want to lie to her."

"You shouldn't have to lie," she whispers, but her eyes are threatening to sting with frustration as she finally lowers both of her hands, allows him to see the raw shame contorting her features into a pained expression. "But this can't - we can't do this, we can't-"

"Don't you dare," he growls, his hands gentle despite the low tone of his voice when they lift to her shoulders. "We can and we are-"

"Castle," she huffs, gripping his waist to pull him out of the way, closer to the wall of the brick building of a bookstore at their backs. "I don't want to come between you and Alexis. She's the most important part of your life and I refuse to be the wedge in your relationship with your daughter. It means too much-"

"Alexis isn't happy," he concedes, his thumbs extending to graze the edges of her collarbones. "And as much as I love my daughter and respect her opinions, her feelings, she can't dictate the decisions I make. She isn't the parent here, Kate."

"She'll never be okay with this," Kate sighs, pressing two fingers between her brows, to the headache drumming to life there.

"She will, eventually. She'll just need time."

"No, Rick, you don't understand." Beckett shrugs his hands from her shoulders and tilts her back to rest against brick wall behind her, diverting her eyes to the heavens, to the gorgeous blue sky, the Eiffel tower standing tall in the distance. "Alexis came to see me about nine months ago."

Castle's eyes narrow on her, his brow creasing with a mixture of confusion and skepticism. "What did she say to you?"

She really does not want to tattle on his daughter, and she won't tell him everything, won't recall how Alexis had shown up on her doorstep on a Friday evening not long after Kate's return to the Twelfth with her eyes blazing as bright as her hair, fury fuming from her lips as she demanded Kate explain why she had 'banished' her father from the precinct, why she had disappeared like a coward during the summer. She won't retell how Alexis had deemed Beckett's stuttered excuses as bullshit and then spit out that she wished she never would have come back.

"She was just looking out for you," Beckett murmurs, summarizing the reason for the surprise visit that had only added to the misery lacing her bones.

"What did she say, Kate?" he asks again, his determination cold and steely, but Kate shakes her head, refusing to disclose the information he seeks.

"She wanted me to stay away, but that had been the plan regardless, Rick. Alexis was just protecting you the only way she knew how."

"Lashing out at you is not the answer," he snaps, brushing off the touch of her hand to his forearm. "I don't need anyone to protect me from you, Beckett. It was bad enough knowing you had shut me out, but I didn't need my daughter aiding in that."

Her mouth opens, but the words are stuck in her throat, dry and crumbling, it's useless anyway. He's already walking away from her.

* * *

 **A/N: Regarding the brief mention of French in this chapter, I apologize if I butchered it a bit. My language skills in that area are rusty and Google was of little help.**


	13. Chapter 13

He doesn't go far, fuming on his five minute tirade down the sidewalk, fighting the urge to call his daughter and ground her for the next six months, even if she does no longer live under his roof. He never did an acceptable job of punishing Alexis as a child, his own daughter doing a better job of reprimanding herself than he ever could, and he's starting to see that allowing her so much freedom, so much easy forgiveness, may have been a mistake. He allowed his child to accept the role of parent, of adult, of the one in charge, and in turn, it seems that choice gave Alexis the mentality that she was justified in making decisions _for_ him.

But it wasn't even that that had his temper boiling. It was the knowledge that his daughter had been _mean_. Kate didn't have to divulge what Alexis had said that day, he could already imagine what kind of hatred she had spewed at his former partner, how the venom must have laced her words and struck Beckett deep, confirmed her decision to keep her distance. Alexis was one of the sweetest, kindest souls on the planet, he didn't doubt that, but when it sometimes came to the people she loved being threatened in any way, she could be vicious, bratty, and he could admit that he didn't like that side of his daughter very much.

"Richard Castle," he hears the grit of his name from behind, jerks his attention over his shoulder to see Kate shuffling after him with more effort than she would like. "Don't just walk away and leave me fucking stranded in the middle of the sidewalk like that."

"Beckett," he starts, but she cuts him off with the raise of her hand that quickly falls to his bicep, tangling in the fabric of his shirt.

"No, listen to me. I'm not happy with what Alexis did, but I wasn't angry either because I understood." Kate's fingers loosen in his shirt, softening to stroke along the rigid muscles beneath. "All she wants is for you to be happy. I wanted that too."

He hates her in that moment. Hates her for turning him away over a year ago in her hospital room, for robbing him of the only thing he had needed at that time – her and the proof of her survival. He hates her for never calling, for waiting so long to decide she wanted him again, for being reckless and stupid and chasing ghosts that caused permanent damage, wounds that will likely haunt her body for years to come, if not forever. He hates her for ambushing him and adding more cracks to his heart on the streets of Paris for the second time in three days.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," she mumbles, her mouth twisting into a frown as her hand slips down his arm before falling away to bump against her side. "But that wasn't my decision to make."

"No," he agrees on a grumble, crossing his arms over his chest. "It wasn't. Wasn't Alexis's either."

"No, you're a grown man capable of making the choices that are best for you. For your happiness. No one has the right to interfere with that."

"Then don't," he growls, snagging her fallen hand and dragging her towards him, mindful of her side, catching the wince the tug of movement elicits. "I'll talk to Alexis about it later-"

"Castle, please don't-"

"But no more deciding for me, either of you," he states, rough and uncompromising. "We're partners?"

Her eyes flicker with memory, a pleasant one this time, and the corner of her mouth twitches upwards. "Yeah."

"Start treating me like one again."

Kate exhales, the breath whooshing out of her, but the air is tinged with relief as she nods in acceptance.

"Deal."

The stream of people passing them by is the only reason he refrains from drawing her into an embrace, from eradicating the traces of insecurity still inhabiting the frown lines bracketing her mouth. He has her hand in his though, and he laces their fingers, gives her palm a reassuring squeeze that has her chest expanding once more.

"I had planned to show up at your book signing," she confesses, merging with the flow of human traffic, crossing the street while he stares at her in confusion.

"What book signing?" Rick questions, uncertain of where exactly she's leading them, if she has any set destination in mind or if they're just wandering. Not that it matters; he'll always follow, especially when she has his hand.

"For Heat Rises, last fall," she murmurs, her fingers flexing nervously within the twine of his. "I – I showed up at the bookstore, had my book ready to be signed, just like everyone else."

"What stopped you from coming inside?" he asks, too worn to be disappointed, to puff with agitation, to wonder what would have happened had she walked up to him, presented her book for signing.

Beckett shakes her head, the loose waves of her hair tumbling over her shoulders to cascade down her back, so beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

"I caught a glimpse of you, from outside the main window of the store," she explains, turning down a new street, indicating that perhaps maybe she does have an idea of where they're headed after all. "You looked…"

"Like shit," he remembers and Kate huffs, nudges his shoulder.

"I was going to say miserable, but that works too." Beckett drags him through another right turn. "I knew if I would have gone in there, I would have made it worse."

"And had to face me," he adds, regretting it immediately, noticing the way she stiffens, her stride faltering for a moment.

"I dealt with a fair share of cowardice as well, Castle," she sighs, echoing his explanation from earlier and nervously rubbing her thumb along the bone of his index finger. "And facing you in front of all those people… I thought maybe waiting near the back entrance for you to come out would be a better idea, but I ran into Paula-"

"Oh god."

"And asked her to let you know I stopped by, if she would tell you to meet me across the street at a park-"

"Are you kidding me?" he moans, lifting his free hand to scrub across his face, allowing Kate to be his only guide as he digs his knuckle to his eye socket, pressing until the cornea throbs and bright light bursts in the darkness.

"Probably a stupid idea to think she would actually pass along the request," Beckett mutters, remorse in her voice, in her touch when she gingerly draws his hand away from his face. "Especially knowing I'd be bad press."

"Why are all of the women in my life out to destroy my relationship with you?"

"Your mother gave me a chance," Kate points out and it reminds him to thank his mother, to express his gratitude for doing what she knew would be best, even if he had loathed her for it the second he had learned of her assistance in Beckett's plan to locate him.

"A strong ally," he agrees, some of the simmering rage draining from his chest at the gentle melody of her laughter, but the small curve of her lips turns somber at his return to the original point of conversation. "So you just…waited for me? At the park across the street?"

"I thought it would be a good place to talk," she shrugs, dodging a woman walking a tiny dog. "I waited for about an hour, but after that, I knew you had either failed to receive the message or your absence was answer enough."

"Kate-"

"I know," she quiets his groan, drifting in closer to his side, smudging her lips to his shoulder, the heat of her mouth perforating the fabric of his shirt, seeping into his skin. "It was a mess. I was a mess."

"We could have figured this all out so much sooner," he grouses, glaring at the ground passing beneath their feet. "We could have-"

"No," Kate protests, squeezing his hand for attention, allowing him to see the resolution unfolding in her eyes when he gives it. "I wouldn't have been ready, Rick. I would have made excuses, hid behind the wall, I – I would have ruined it before we began. I know this was difficult, took longer to achieve, but this-" Their tangled hands come between them, pulled to her chest, just above the puckered knot of flesh that resides there. "This is better. It was worth waiting for."

And if there's one thing he is certain of, it's that.


	14. Chapter 14

The near hour of walking to Luxembourg Gardens has done a number on her insides, the strain shredding along her abdomen, grating at the rotted muscles there and lining her ribs with spikes that pierced with every breath.

"Just a few more steps to the grass," Castle promises her, his voice even, encouraging but not coddling. He's become an expert at recognizing the moment the familiar ache sets in and while he often attempts to be subtle in his support, whether it be physically propping her up or simply talking her through the tendrils of pain spiraling through her body, she's become adept in reading him as well.

Rick cups one of her elbows once they've trekked through the brilliant green lawn to an open spot amidst the multitudes of people decorating the massive garden's grounds, holding to the sharp jut of bone as she descends into a shaded patch of grass beneath a tree. Castle plops down beside her, resting his back against the trunk, and she isn't yet ready for the world to learn about them, about their reunion and budding relationship, but no one knows them here, recognizes them. So Kate takes advantage of the privacy, their anonymity, and scoots closer to him, reclines her back to settle against his side.

She feels the pleased little shiver that ripples down his spine, chuckling quietly while Castle curls a loose arm around her shoulders, trailing his fingertips up and down the bare path of her arm.

"We'll just rest here awhile," he murmurs, his head against the tree, but his cheek tilting to lie atop her crown. "Then we can explore the gardens."

"I read it's a beautiful place," Beckett sighs, the land visible to her roaming eyes already proving the online suggestion to be true, the entire setting enchanting.

"Thanks for bringing us here," he smiles, his cheek swelling against the top of her head, the split of his lips contagious and infecting hers.

Her hand drops to his thigh, fingers spreading like wings to claim the thick muscles beneath his jeans, feeling the strength beneath her palm, at her back. It's another thing she's noticed, his slight change in physique, as if exercise has become a more prominent part of his life since her shooting. It makes her wish she could still go for long distance runs, do more than low intensity workouts and stretching exercises that manage to leave her a sweaty, breathless mess ready to collapse atop her yoga mat. She misses feeling powerful and exuding the confidence that comes with the sensation of having the strength to take on any obstacle that comes her way.

Though, Maddox had proved her countless hours of dedication to fitness and physical fortitude meant absolutely nothing in the end. The pull up bar in her apartment had at least paid off, building her endurance level high enough that she could hang onto the ledge of that rooftop just long enough, even though it left her shoulders wrenched from their sockets, her fingers sore and throbbing from nail to knuckle each time she had gripped her arm rests through turbulence on the plane to Paris.

It had been worth it, of course, and she was grateful for the force of her will, the determination to find him subduing the brutality of her bruises, her beaten muscles and abused bones. And the ever present ache in her side, can't forget that. But it infuses her with melancholy that she's unable to suggest a run through Paris with him like she wishes she could.

"Whatever it is you're worrying about, stop," Castle murmurs, his voice the perfect mixture of teasing and concerned. It's been over a year, but he retains the balance of caring without being overbearing, of pushing but never too hard, remembering her limits, or simply readjusting to them without issue. "Kate," he calls, chuckling while his thumb skims her cheek, and the sound of his laughter in her ear is enough to bring her back from the dwelling of her shortcomings, enough to have her heart fluttering like a bird still trying to uncramp its healing wings, excited and eager to fly again.

Beckett turns her head, plants a kiss to the knuckles of his hand and closes her eyes, finds peace in the soft sigh of his chest and the chirp of birds overhead.

* * *

He allows Kate to doze for a while, the heat of the summer lulling him into his own sleepy daze, time passing quickly and without his notice. The next time his eyes flutter open, Kate has moved from his side, closer to his feet now, out from the shade of the tree with her knees to her chest and her face tilted upwards towards the sun. Beautiful.

Beckett notices his staring without opening her eyes, her brow arching at the sensation of him watching.

"Still creepy?" he quips, earning a crack of her smile.

"Yeah, but I don't mind it so much anymore," she shrugs, squinting through the sunbeams to grin at him. "Ready to explore?"

They walk the gardens at a leisurely pace, following the multiple trails and admiring the sheer beauty of the flowers, the vibrant foliage surrounding almost every path, and taking breaks by the Grand Bassin, watching sailboats voyage across the large pond.

"We'll have to come back soon, have a picnic before we leave," she tells him after a couple of hours, after they've walked the entirety of the garden and he can feel her fighting against the ache of her muscles, holding his hand too tightly and struggling not to lag beside him.

"Already planning our next date, Beckett? I'm impressed."

She huffs, laughing but also puffing with the exertion of this 'date'. "Only the best for you, baby."

"Oh no, _baby_? No way. If we're doing pet names, I want something better than baby," he scoffs, but Kate only laughs at him, untangles their hands to loop her arm through his as they stroll towards the exit.

"We're not doing pet names, Castle," she chuckles, her body visibly loosening with relief when he hails a cab once they're back on the city sidewalks. "But I don't think you'll mind what I call you in the heat of the moment."

Her bedroom voice floats through the warm air between them, electricity catching in the breeze, but Kate only winks at him as she tugs open the taxi's door herself, slips inside and awaits him with a wicked smirk. "Come on, Castle. Let's grab some dinner and go home."

Home. But he doesn't think she truly sees his apartment in Paris as 'home' and he certainly doesn't either. Over the years, he's learned home has become where his family is, where she is, and reuniting with her this week has only confirmed that concept.

Rick slides into the cab with her, enjoys their ride home.


	15. Chapter 15

Cooking dinner together is not something she would have predicted would be an enjoyable task for them. They both have completely different methods of accomplishing things and this dynamic had not changed in the kitchen. But she had found that just like in the precinct, their differences made them compatible, working in tandem to concoct a meal that had her humming as the aroma of Coq Au Vin (courtesy of Castle's idea to research the 'top ten easiest French foods to cook at home' idea) with a side of parsley seasoned potatoes and steamed vegetables wafts through the apartment.

"Hold back on the garlic," she murmurs at his back. The wine he poured for them has aided in relaxing the knotted up muscles in her abdomen, easing the spasms to tremors she refuses to acknowledge. It also has her feeling brave, and a bit handsy.

Castle pauses, withdrawing the seasoning from the skillet simmering with the ingredients of their meal, and arches an eyebrow at her from over his shoulder.

"Not a fan of the garlic breath, Beckett?"

"No, so keep it to a minimum," she mumbles, dusting her lips to his nape just to feel him shudder. It still surprises her how natural this is, how easy it comes to touch her mouth to his skin, to hold his hand and settle in close enough to absorb the warmth of him.

"The cherry clafoutis we picked up from that bakery on the way here will mask it," Castle muses, his exposed profile smirking at her, and she can't resist pressing into his back, pushing past the ache of standing on her toes to taste the corner of his grinning mouth.

Rick reaches around with his free hand to catch her thigh in retaliation, digging his fingers into her quadriceps, continuing to tend to the stew for the chicken all the while. She's supposed to be keeping track of the potatoes, the easiest dish on the menu, but she's easily growing distracted. And it's ridiculous, she thinks, how they're acting like teenagers in his kitchen, flirting over the preparation of their meal and groping one another through the cooking process. Ridiculous, but fun, and she's missed having fun.

"You're going to make me burn myself," he grumbles, lowering the level of the stovetop burner.

"Not good at multitasking?" she teases, shifting away from him as a safety precaution and returning to her duty of arranging the potatoes and the vegetables onto two plates.

The chicken has finished in the oven and the accompanying stew for the dish is nearly done, so Kate drifts towards the dining table they had yet to use, sets one plate down at the head of the table and the next right beside it. She thinks better of it a moment later, arranging the plates across from one another. Castle has been in a playful mood since they had arrived back at the apartment, making jokes throughout their piggyback ride up the stairs of the building and stealing kisses while they cooked that had her blood simmering, bubbling like the stew on the stove each time his tongue stroked the seam of her lips.

He's been playful, has let her see that side of him again, and she wants to bask in it, to share it, and skimming her foot up the side of his leg, scratching at the denim of his jeans with her toes, is a form of play, right?

"I'm a fine multitasker, Beckett. You were just causing a safety hazard," he quips, joining her at the table with two bowls filled with the Coq Au Vin.

There's an answering remark on the tip of her tongue, but before it can slide past her lips, his phone is ringing in his pocket again and she hates the way it makes dread fill her stomach to know that it may be his daughter.

"Mother," Castle assures her quietly, as if reading her mind, and she wants to apologize somehow, muster up a way to explain the apprehension he must have seen flash in her eyes, but he's turning away from the table and strolling back towards the kitchen before the words can formulate on her tongue.

Kate sighs, frowning down at the lovely display of their meal on the table while he greets his mother with his typical flair, a little more forced now, but better. Far better than it had been three days ago.

Castle and his mother cycle through the 'how are you's and talk of Paris that she imagines Martha must adore, and Kate is in no hurry for their conversation to end, wouldn't dream of rushing him, but the option of standing awkwardly beside the table while she waits isn't too appealing either. She drifts into the kitchen, brushing his shoulder as she passes to snag their two empty wineglasses from the countertop beside the stove, apprehending the bottle of the red from the island on her way back to the table.

"Yes, she's here," Beckett hears him saying while she pours the wine into their glasses. "You want to… Mother, I don't think – I'll ask her."

Kate's heartbeat picks up as Castle joins her once more at the table, his cellphone pressed to his chest and worry lines creasing his forehead.

"My mother wants to talk to you, she didn't say what about, but she says it's important. You can say no though, Beckett. I can lie if you want and say you're busy-"

Beckett pries the phone from its sealed place against his chest, dusting her fingers over the fabric stretched across where his heart beats before lifting the phone to her ear.

"Martha," she greets, easing away from Castle and stepping off into the living room, wandering towards the window, to the spot where they had danced earlier that morning.

"Katherine, darling! You actually did it!" his mother exclaims with glee, a tone she remembers from happier occasions. Unlike the day she showed up to his loft, ragged and beaten on his doorstep and earning the first real look of disapproval she has ever seen Martha Rodgers display towards her. "How long did it take you to find Richard?"

"I ran into him a few hours after I landed, actually," Kate chuckles, scraping her fingers through her hair and allowing her gaze to roam over the city outside, illuminating the night.

"Oh, it must truly be fate then!" Martha declares, a delighted guffaw accompanying her words.

"I'd like to think so," Kate admits, her lips quirking in the corners, her cheek pushing against the warm screen of the iPhone. "Is everything alright, Martha?"

"Fine, darling. Even better now that I know things seem to have worked out between you and my son. I had wanted to call sooner, but Richard asked for privacy while he was away and I would have hated to ask about you too soon, give away the surprise," Martha replies, surreptitious, as if Kate's journey to Paris had been a secret mission between the two of them, which… well, wasn't very far from the truth. "And even better because I heard my son and for the first time in _months_ , he finally sounds more like himself. I believe I have you to thank for that."

"No," Kate blurts, slithering an arm around her waist, cinching her forearm to her abdomen as it begins to burn. "Don't thank me. He… it would have been better if I hadn't left to begin with."

For a moment, she's met with silence on the other line, and from Martha Rodgers, lack of response is terrifying. It confirms her fears, ensures the resentment she knows his family must hold for her, will likely hold for her forever-

"Katherine," Martha starts, her tone softer now, firm but comforting. Motherly. "Since my son met you, there have been a lot of changes in our lives, changes in him. While I will admit, I was not exactly pleased with the changes that occurred within the last year, I also can't deny that you have always been good for him."

"Martha, no-"

"Ah-ah, not finished," his mother silences her. "As I was saying, you're good for him, and I realize there were likely reasons behind your decisions for the past year, but I'm not asking for you to explain yourself. I only wanted to express my gratitude for the happiness you have brought him in your return, because that, my dear, is all that truly matters to me. All else is forgivable and forgotten."

Shit, his mother is going to make her cry. Kate drops her head to the glass of the window, squeezes her eyes tightly shut against the stinging in the corners, the moisture forming along the rims and threatening to flood over.

"Thank you, Martha," she manages, soothing her fingers along the length of her incision scar to ease its throb.

"My pleasure, kiddo. At this rate, maybe he'll even begin writing again!" Martha sings, but Kate's heart stops cold. He stopped writing? "Now, I believe I'm keeping you two from a romantic dinner, so I will be off, but if either of you need anything I'm just a phone call away and would not mind in the least if I had to fly to Paris for any reason…"

Kate chuckles, grateful how Martha graciously ignores the watery quality to her laughter, and swipes at her eyes. "I'll be sure to pass that along to Castle."

"Marvelous! Enjoy the rest of your evening, honey."

Beckett murmurs her thanks, withdraws the phone from her ear when the line goes dead, but remains propped against the window for a few extra seconds, willing the tears in her eyes to dry, the quiver in her lips to quell.

"Beckett."

"Coming," she calls back, but she doesn't move, not yet. And she needs to, before he abandons the dining room where she heard his voice rising from and comes for her, wraps his arms around her from behind and has the wet burn in her eyes intensifying.

Kate sucks in a breath, blinks a few times, and turns away from the window, lowering the phone from its resting place at her chest and handing it over once she reaches him at the table. Castle is already sitting, his plate still neat and untouched in front of him, his eyes anxious flurries of concern when he accepts the device from her grasp.

"I'm scared to ask, but how did my mother go about traumatizing you?"

An unexpected laugh bursts past her lips, but Beckett shakes her head, makes her way around to the opposite side of the table so she can finally slide in across from him.

"She didn't traumatize me," she assures him, retrieving her fork from the table and cutting into one of the small potatoes decorating her plate. "Quite the opposite."

"Oh really?" Castle questions, his brow hitching up to his hairline in surprise while he mimics her, curling his fingers around a spoon and dipping the silver utensil into his bowl.

She wants to reach across the gleaming wood of the table, smooth her fingertips along his brow, soothe it back into place and trace away the lines of his face while she's at it. She wants to skip dinner and lead him to the couch instead, huddle against his side on the sofa and exist in this newfound peace he has provided her with, wants to coax him into telling her why he stopped writing, even though she already has her sinking suspicions. She wants to be what his mother said; she wants to be good for him.

"Yeah," she simply smiles instead. "She also expects you to fly her to Paris sometime soon."


	16. Chapter 16

The solemn mood in which she had joined him at the table with slowly eases into something lighter, eventually allowing the tense line of her mouth to loosen, to split into a smile whenever he makes stupid jokes, the pinched set to her eyes steadily crumbling into the soft hazel that flickers with gold. He has no idea what his mother said to her, Kate continues to change the subject every time he attempts to needle her for information, but despite the shimmery quality to her eyes and the way she had hunched against the window during the end of the phone call, it doesn't seem to have been anything too bad, no negative lectures or signs of disapproval.

Still, for Kate Beckett to be so emotional, he's concerned.

She hums over dinner, even compliments his cooking, and near the end of the meal, before he can rise to retrieve dessert, her foot creates an erotic rhythm against his calf muscle, trailing up and down, her toes hooking in the edge of his jeans and tugging every now and then. The mischievous behavior from earlier is still there, but that doesn't mean he fails to notice the way she inadvertently falls victim to her wandering mind – her eyes going blank and her fingers going limp around her cutlery every few minutes.

"What is it?" he asks, finally voices the question during dessert when she's failed to touch the mouthwatering cherry clafoutis in front of her. "I know you said the conversation with my mother went fine, but something's obviously bothering-"

"What's the last thing you've written?"

He almost chokes on the sweet cherry filling, has to reach for the water he traded his second glass of wine for to clear his throat. "The last thing I've written?"

"Or when was the last time you wrote something?" she reiterates, flicking her eyes between him and her uneaten dessert, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as she awaits a reply.

Castle sets his fork down and narrows his eyes on her. "What exactly did my mother say to you, Kate?"

"Nothing, I just - she implied that it's been awhile since you've written anything and… does she just mean Nikki Heat?"

The hopeful look that flickers to life in her eyes crushes him. He doesn't have the answer she wants and she notices that within seconds, reading his face like a crime scene, finding the required evidence with a flash of defeat replacing the hope in her gaze.

"The outline I told you about that first night, for the fourth Nikki Heat? That's the last thing I worked on. Otherwise, the words just… they stopped," he confesses, the familiar flood of shame rushing through his chest, shoving his lungs up against his ribcage with the force of its waves, making breathing a tight struggle.

"Did I - is it because of me?" she murmurs, and the strained quality of her voice, the quiet shame of her own that laces through the question, outweighs his anguish with ease. "Did I make the words disappear?"

He pauses, for too long, but he doesn't know how to respond, how to not hurt her with the truth, because she's already figured it out. She brought the words back to him that night at his book party over four years ago, she caused them to flow from his fingertips even after he had resigned himself to believing the words may never come to him again; she had given him the power of words, revived it, and she had just as easily taken it away with her.

Kate stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the wood of the floor, and the panic flares in his chest without warning, clutches around his heart, his dilapidated lungs, but she isn't leaving, isn't retreating to her bedroom or out the door. Beckett rounds the table in two quick strides and slides a knee over his lap, fitting into the space between his body and the table's edge, and sways into him. Her hands cradle his face, her palms soft and so very welcoming when they cup his jaw, as her body sinks to rest against his and in the next moment, her mouth is on his, her tongue gliding past the unguarded barrier of his lips.

"Kate," he gasps around the scrape of her teeth, but the ferocity of her kiss doesn't ease, doesn't cease, and he can taste the desperation now, the need to fix what she unknowingly broke. "Beckett, stop-"

"No," she breathes, her head shaking, their noses clashing with it, but she does gentle, the taut bow of her spine loosening under the splay of his palms to her back, the fervent worship of her lips falling into soft, ardent caresses over his. "Take them back."

"Them?" he echoes, still trying to catch his breath, to regain his grip on the conversation her tongue wiped his mind clean of for a split second.

"Words, the words" she reminds him, her fingertips trickling down the line of his jaw. "Your writing, your books - I can't ruin that too, Castle. Please-"

"You didn't ruin it," he promises, slipping one hand up to curve at her nape, holding her steady. "You didn't, Kate, I wouldn't have written a word in the last four years if it hadn't been for you. Nikki just needed a break, that's all."

The tense muscles of her thighs unfurl against his, her knees knocking into the back of the chair as her entire frame relaxes just a fraction further into his embrace. He can feel her throat working through a rough swallow, her chest expanding against his with a deep breath, calming.

"Think she'll return anytime soon?"

Castle slips his hands down from the regions and valleys of her back, down to splay along the tops of her thighs. He brought his laptop along as part of the ruse, tricking his family and even himself into thinking he'd be using the device to write, but he hasn't touched the word document for _Frozen Heat_ since his first week in Paris.

Writing has remained in the back of his mind, especially since Kate had joined him earlier in the week, but now… he may not be able to write, but the courage to try has returned.

"I think there's a chance," Castle informs her, skimming the bare skin beneath the edge of Beckett's shorts and watching her eyes dry, the threat of tears replaced with an inquisitive sparkle. "In fact, I'm feeling pretty inspired right now."

* * *

Nerves had rippled from his figure when he had plopped down beside her on the sofa, his laptop tucked under his arm and a crooked grin on his lips. They had finished dessert – well, she had slipped from his lap, despite his protests, and allowed him to finish his cherry clafoutis while she brought hers along with her into the living room – and Castle had headed straight to his bedroom after depositing his dishes into the sink, returning with his laptop in hand.

She had hoped Martha had been wrong about his writing, that he had picked it up again sometime after arriving in Paris, but by the hesitation in his fingertips and the tense set to his shoulders as he flips open the lid and calls up a word document that is mostly blank, Beckett can see that his mother was right to hope his love of writing would be renewed.

Kate is currently hoping for the same thing.

She turns her attention away from Castle and his laptop, training her eyes on the television they rarely use and searching the TV channels. It takes a few minutes, but she eventually comes across a slew of channel selections that are in English, settles on a viewing of _The Hunger Games_. She remembers the film being in theaters not too long ago and it's only just started on the screen now, so Kate curls into the corner of the couch, her toes grazing Castle's thigh.

His fingers break away from their tentative reacquaintance with the keyboard to squeeze her ankle, brushing his thumb over the protruding bone before returning to the laptop propped atop his thighs.

Two hours pass and Kate is fully engrossed in the story on the screen, a throw pillow clutched to her chest and her toes warmed beneath the heat of Rick's thigh as the consistent staccato of typing fills the air. The credits begin to roll and Kate slides her gaze over to Castle, studies the intensity that has carved itself into the lines of his face, the focus piercing in his eyes and illuminated by the glow of the computer screen.

She likes this. Lying on the couch with him, watching a movie while he writes – actually writes for the first time in months – and existing in comfortable, companionable silence. She could picture them like this in his loft, in her apartment, and it has her breath catching for a moment, how beautiful this new form of normal could be.

His typing comes to a brief halt and Castle's head lifts, spins towards her, meets her eyes to find her staring back at him.

"The movie already finished?" he questions in surprise, his gaze jumping between her and the flat screen on the wall. "I've been writing for… for almost three hours?"

Her smile – one she hadn't even realized was already in place – blooms wider. "Yeah, get a lot done?"

The unwanted apology fades from his eyes, excitement flaring bright blue as he nods.

"Almost three whole chapters. I have this entirely new idea for Nikki and Rook and it's already coming together so well."

He looks childlike, resembling a little boy, so proud of himself, and it has her shifting from her position on the couch, rising to her knees to reach for him, smearing a chaste kiss to his lips, hoping he can feel how proud _she_ is of him.

"Can't wait to read where you take them next," she murmurs, stroking her fingertips along his jaw before pulling back to rest on her heels. "You keep writing, I'm going to head to bed."

"Kate, I don't have to spend all my time working on this now, I can still-"

"I know," she assures him, climbing from the sofa and stretching her cramping muscles, turning towards the guest bedroom to hide the involuntary grimace the pull in her side evokes. "But I can tell you're itching to write more," she chuckles, tilting her head towards the dancing tips of his fingers along the side of his laptop. Castle huffs, stills his tapping hands, and sets his laptop to the side. "And I'm already exhausted."

"And you call _me_ old, Beckett?" he teases, standing from the sofa to approach her, cradling the bones of her hips in his hands.

His touch is so good, so addicting and warm, that her body cants into him without her permission. Castle smirks and she flicks his bicep for it, rests her forehead to his clavicle on a sigh.

"How's the side?" he asks, voice still light but softer, solicitous as one of his hands scales up from her hipbone, splays wide over the expanse of her abdomen.

"Not too bad," she lies, grateful he can't feel the thick knots beneath his palms that not even the warmth of his hand helps to unravel. They walked so much today, spent so much time on the move – her body is simply reacting to the extra exertion, her damaged muscles protesting a tad more violently than usual, but she'll be fine. The snarls of thorns beneath her ribs will unfurl after awhile and by morning, she'll be able to stand without feeling as if she's on the verge of passing out.

"Just call me if you need anything, I don't mind," Castle murmurs, his thumb skimming beneath the hem of her shirt, flirting with the skin below her belly button, causing the muscles to contract-

"Castle," she hisses, unsure if the sound of his name is laced with pleasure or pain, but beneath the spasms of sharp, hot bursts of agony, the fluttering of arousal burns slow and pleasant in the pit of her stomach.

"Sorry," he chuckles, planting an apologetic kiss to the middle of her forehead and withdrawing his hand. "But I meant it, Kate. Anything."

"I will," she reassures him, but she hopes she doesn't have to take him up on the kind offer like she has for the past few nights, hopes she can just make it through one night without luring him into her bed out of obligation. She can be more than a wounded woman in need of a healing hand and he needs to see that before they can move forward. "Night, Castle."

Kate drifts out of the loose hold he still has on her waist, squares her jaw through the stabbing sensation each step towards the bedroom door elicits in her midsection.

"Until tomorrow," he calls after her, and even through the pain and dark spots crowding in the corners of her eyes, she manages to smile.


	17. Chapter 17

He learns that Kate Beckett has nightmares.

Vivid dreams that have him jolting awake at the sound of her choked screams, stumbling through the apartment to get to her bedroom with bleary eyes. His coordination doesn't take too long to return – he stayed up late rediscovering his love for writing, for Nikki Heat, and he had only crawled into bed a couple of hours ago – but his hands still fumble with the door handle, his feet tripping past the threshold of the guest room, but he doesn't stop, doesn't pause to regain his balance. Castle stumbles the few feet it takes to reach her, placing his knee on the edge of the mattress and calling her name, leaning over to touch his hand to the shivering bone of her hunched shoulder.

"Beckett, wake up, wake-"

"No - no _don't._ " She's gasping, her breath raw and ragged as it claws its way past her lips, staining the fabric of her pillow with the wet spots of her tears. "Castle. _Please-_ "

"Beckett," he tries again, cradling the damp skin of her cheek with one hand while the other braces at the curved bow of her spine. "I'm right here. Right here, Kate."

The choked sobs fade to whimpers and silent tears that continue to leak from her closed eyes, but her hand refuses to unfurl from the fist it's made at her chest, her knuckles white and her body rigid and still quaking with whatever night terror that has claimed her mind.

"Kate," he calls once more, lowering his hand to cover the fist at her sternum, brushing his thumb back and forth over the path of her knuckles. Her body curls in on itself and he knows it can't be good for her scars, there's no way that the tense position can be comfortable whatsoever, and his nerves are sky rocketing by the second to see her this way, panicking even in her sleep. "Beckett, you're okay. I've got you."

Her entire frame jerks wildly, startling herself awake, and he watches as her eyes fly open, wide and horrified, bloodshot and blurred with an unsettling mixture of sleep and trauma. It takes her a long moment to locate his face in the darkness, to focus, and even when recognition floods her gaze, the tears do too, and her face begins to crumple. Rick contemplates giving her space, sitting up from his hunched position over her trembling body, but frankly, he has given Kate Beckett enough space to last a lifetime. He's done with space.

Castle is careful as he uses the hand at her back to gently haul her upwards, supporting the back of her neck with the other and shifting from his knee to sit properly on the bed with her, coaxing her to rest against his chest. She hisses through the movement, a mewl of pain breaching the pursed line of her lips, and Rick stills, trails his hand down to find the incision scar at her left side.

Beckett muffles her moan against his chest, burying her face in the fabric of his t-shirt, but her tears are soaking the material, the hot pant of her breath searing the skin beneath.

"What happened?" he demands softly, willing his own panic to stay beneath the surface, to refrain from lacing through his voice and making all of this worse, but she's in _pain_. More than she has been in throughout her entire stay with him and he doesn't know what to do, how to help-

"Came for you, came for you, they came-" She's gasping the words out again, damn near hyperventilating, clutching at the wrist connected to the hand splayed across her scars. "They killed you first."

Another noise of agony rips from her throat, through her grit teeth, and her other hand is still fisted at her chest, her own nails snagging in her shirt, so he slides his hand beneath hers, covers the scar there too in hopes that the warmth of his palms can soothe the ragged ache that seems to rupture through her every breath.

"They didn't," he says, inanely, pressing the words into her temple. "No one came, no one is coming for either one of us. We're safe."

Her knees coil in tighter towards her chest, trapping both of his arms, but he doesn't mind, uses it as an excuse to bundle her in closer while simultaneously trying not to suffocate her.

"I have them too," he starts, starts talking just to eradicate the silence that is broken only by the tattered pants of her struggle to breathe. "All I dreamed about after your shooting. I picked up the phone so many times, dialed your number to make sure you were safe, that no one had come to finish the job-"

"Should've called," she wheezes, her words splintering through the low whine of her voice.

"Breathe, Kate," he reminds, pleads, but her head is thrashing against his chest, rolling back and forth, her forehead pressing too hard against his clavicle.

"Can't - I can't move, I can't-" she whimpers, and fuck, she's _crying_. The tears spilling from the corners of her eyes, skating down her cheeks and hanging from her jawline ceaseless, and all he can think is heat, how the heat of his palm had helped her that first night, and how she needs more than that now.

His eyes swoop towards the bathroom.

Since Rick had learned of the pain she harbored beneath her ribcage, he's been scouring the internet for treatments, for any techniques to relieve her of the knots and muscle spasms. Of course, medical assistance would be preferable, but hot baths had been a popular at home method.

Rick scoops an arm beneath her bent knees, ensures that the arm banded around her curved spine will hold before rising from the bed, heading for the bathroom in three long, evenly measured strides, trying his best not to jostle her, to add to the agony constricting her insides.

"Rick," she gasps out, all she can manage, while he twists the nozzles of the bathtub, wills the steaming water to fill the tub faster. "What-"

"You said baths help sometimes, right?" he questions, recalling how she used to tease him with her lies about spending her nights off in a bath with his book, but he imagines the part about lounging in a deep tub of heated water must have been true to an extent, at least on the nights she craved relaxation amidst the whirlwind of her hectic lifestyle. He can picture it so clearly, her tense muscles unwinding beneath the scalding heat of the water, the knots unraveling beneath her skin while the foam of bubbles caress her flesh. "If it doesn't, we're calling a doctor."

"Clothes?" she rasps, her fingers clenching in the shoulder of his t-shirt as he steps inside the tub, completely disregarding the existence of their pajamas and lowering them into the rising water.

The water sloshes over his thighs, soaking through the rear of the cotton shorts she wore to bed and lapping up to lick at the bare skin of her legs, encompassing her toes and splashing at her ankles.

"Impromptu bathing suits," he decides, leaning back against the porcelain rim of the claw foot tub, holding carefully to Kate through his descent, feeling the sharp points of her knees loosening against the arm still supporting them.

Her breath is still hard and ragged, but the higher the water rises and the more of her body it engulfs, the looser her limbs become – her spine unfurling slowly, her legs easing from their stiff position near his ribs, her bones unlocking and allowing her the privilege of movement inch by inch. Her abdomen is the last part of her to unclench, her chest following, expanding with tentative breath a moment later.

Once the water reaches his chest, Kate has come undone atop him, her body draped and fragile in his lap, across his torso.

"It's never been that bad," she whispers, her cheek at his clavicle, her forehead to his throat. "My entire body cramped up, shut down on me."

"You've been pushing yourself like this for a year, straining muscles that never healed," Castle reasons, not reprimanding but telling her what she already knows, what she doesn't like to admit or acknowledge. "And after the fight with Maddox, the long flight over, all the excess activity since you got here... maybe something finally snapped from overuse."

"Picturing my beat up muscles snapping is not the best mental image right now," she huffs, her arms uncoiling from their folded place against the line of her sternum, both slipping into the water pooling between them. Those wounded muscles have yet to stop quivering, her abdominals rippling beneath his palm when he eases the arm from beneath her legs, rests his hand to her stomach.

"Is the hot water helping? I wish I had bought some Epsom salt, something extra to-"

"The bath is helping, Castle," Beckett murmurs, rotating slowly to lie more comfortably against him, her muscles calming, her limbs liquefying and sinking into his.

He uses his foot to nudge the nozzles, stopping the flow from the faucet before the guest bathroom can be turned into a wading pool, and relaxes deeper into the steaming water, reveling in the weight of Kate Beckett covering his body. He trails his fingers along the taut muscles of her outer thighs, the hard bones of her knees under the water, studying the ends of her hair floating near her shoulder, slithering in the clear water like silk and clinging to the sleeve of her t-shirt with every exhale she releases.

"Although," she mumbles, her voice soft and drowsy in his ear, her fingers clumsy and floating against his side, toying with the hem of his t-shirt that's ridden up from his hips. "First time I've ever taken a bath fully clothed."

"This summer is all about embracing change, right?" he murmurs, skimming his lips along her forehead, the path of her hairline, and grinning when she laughs, her chest rumbling quietly and without causing her to wince.

Always a good sign.

"Just tell me when you're ready to get out, Kate. Can't sleep in the tub," he reminds her, his hand swimming beneath the back of her shirt, stroking up and down the naked line of her spine.

She shivers at the contact, but doesn't pull away, drifting closer instead. "I will, but Castle?"

Rick hums his acknowledgement, dropping his cheek to rest against the top of her head and thumbing a knob of her vertebrae. She sighs out deeply, her entire body deflating, coasting along the edge of sleep, but not before she can breathe the words into his skin.

"I love you too."


	18. Chapter 18

She rouses to the sound of water, waves draining from around her, and her hands fist in the fabric of Castle's shirt, holding tight to avoid being swept off into the sea. But her anchor is already moving, his palms at her shoulder blades, willing her to stand, swim to shore.

"C'mon Beckett," he calls in her ear. "You need some dry clothes."

"On the beach?" she mumbles, peeling her eyes open, expecting a cloudy sky but blinking up at him and the walls of the guest bathroom of his Paris apartment instead.

Castle furrows his brow, but his lips are flipping upwards with amusement. "Not at the beach. Took a bath to help your muscles, remember?"

"Yeah," she lies, but it's coming back, the memories of her nightmares rushing in first, followed by the starbursts of pain exploding like firecrackers up her side, burning and debilitating. Castle had held her while the terror of her dreams faded away and the spasms of her muscles took over, caused every breath to ache, and had carried her into a hot bath as a last ditch effort to soothe the pain that had put a look of pure panic in his eyes. "Helped."

"Good," he says, the word dripping with relief. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah, but we're all wet."

"Observant tonight," Castle praises and she's with it enough now to smack him in the arm for the tease, curling her fingers at his shoulder while he stands, hauling her up with him.

The last of the bathwater swirls towards the drain and Castle stretches to reach the nearby towel rack, snags two of the sinfully soft white towels, drapes one over her shoulders.

"Our clothes are going to drip all over the floor," Kate points out, perusing the slipping waistband of Castle's pajama pants with her gaze, the soaked fabric heavy and clinging to his hips.

"I don't mind drying it up," he assures her, politely passing up the opportunity to make a comment about stripping her of her drenched t-shirt that sits sodden and uncomfortable against her skin. She doesn't argue though, even as the outline of Castle's pectorals through his own t-shirt has her insides warming, even when his steadying hands on her waist have arousal cascading through her bloodstream.

Once Castle has aided her in performing a clean exit over the high rim of the claw foot tub and her feet are planted firmly on the hardwood floor, which is quickly pooling with puddles between the two of them, Beckett starts for the bedroom, stripping off her shirt the moment she is encompassed by the moonlit darkness. The towel at her shoulders shields her naked back from him, but Kate eases the material down to wrap around her chest while she shimmies her shorts off, leaves the pile of bath soaked pajamas on the bedroom floor.

Castle's groan from the bathroom startles her, has her jerking too quickly and causing her shredded muscles to protest, but… not quite as furiously as they normally would. Or maybe it's simply because she's distracted by the look on his face, the lustful yearning in his eyes burning bright from the bathroom doorway, the ivory of his clenched fists around the towel rivaling the moonlight.

"You could have warned me," he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut and dropping his forehead to the doorframe, his breathing hard, strained. Kate tightens the towel around her chest, surprised, actually, by his reaction.

Part of her had begun to fear his want for her had become nonexistent after a year apart, that any renewed desire had been curtailed by the frail state of her body, the pathetic weakness she now embodied, but if he was this worked up over the sight of her in a towel…

"Kate," he growls, the grind of her name through his grit teeth reigniting that fierce flame in her abdomen, a pleasant burn for a change, and she unthinkingly steps closer, her approach silent and unnoticed from behind his clenched eyelids. "Please get dressed."

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Castle?" she husks, watching his eyes flare open in surprise at her proximity, hardly a step away from him now.

"Beckett, I'm serious," he warns, his body stiffening at the rise of her hand, damn near trembling when her fingers graze along the hem of his shirt, toying with the waterlogged sleepwear.

He shudders harshly at the touch of her hand to his damp skin.

"You're shivering. Should probably change out of those wet clothes," she murmurs, but Rick shakes his head, drops the towel to scrape his hands through his hair.

"Stop teasing," he grumbles, stealing a glimpse at her, but growing distracted when his gaze skates over her shoulders. "What's this from?"

The tips of his fingers dust along her right shoulder, over the fading bruise coloring her skin.

"The fight with Maddox on the roof," she answers, witnessing the anguish flood his eyes like a tidal wave. "Told you before-"

"How?"

"Castle-"

"Tell me how," he demands, toneless, his eyes still intent on the dull splash of purple tinted with clouds of light blues and flat greens. "Tell me what happened."

Kate sighs, shifts in closer to allow him the better look he craves. "I was practically a ragdoll against him. He tossed me around like I was nothing, threw me to the floor of the roof, over the edge, didn't finish me off because he didn't need to."

His jaw clenches but his hand migrates over her shoulder, traipsing along her back, so she turns, lets the towel to slip down in the back, to the bottom of her spine, allows him to see the evidence that is now faint but still coloring a few places on her back.

"Kate," he whispers as his fingers trail ever so gently over each mottled patch of skin, his voice so mournful, and she doesn't want that. She doesn't want remorse or sorrow, not anymore, she can't take anymore.

"They don't hurt," she assures him, using every sliver of restraint she has to refrain from shivering under the caress of his fingertips traveling over her bare skin. "I hardly even feel them anymore, Castle."

"I should have been there," he murmurs, his hand falling away from her spine. "I should have-"

"No," she argues, turning back on her heel to lift her free hand to his face, sealing her thumb to his lips, stopping the words from spilling out. "Rick, you - you're the one who saved me, when I was hanging from the edge of the roof. You were the reason I didn't let go."

His throat bobs with a hard swallow as he diverts his eyes, hides the wet shimmer threatening to encompass them, but Kate presses in closer, suppresses the wince the sudden crush of his arms around her evokes, the tremors the chill of his still sodden chest elicits.

"I should have been the one to pull you up," he growls into her hair to mask the quiver in his voice. "Should have been able to pull you up, push you out of the way-"

"Stop it," she rasps, shoving from his embrace to glare up at him, ignoring the painful pound of her heart against her sore ribcage, but not letting him go. "You really think you could have prevented my shooting?" she demands, fisting her fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, her chest welling with despair because if she's understanding him, reading the desolation in his eyes correctly, he spent this entire year blaming himself to some extent for her getting shot. And that breaks her heart faster than any bullet ever could.

"I could have moved faster, the second I saw the flash of light in the distance, but I second guessed-"

"Castle, _no_ ," she chokes, the beginnings of a sob catching in her throat, so she surges up on her toes, covers his mouth with hers before it can break them both. Castle's hands span her back, sealing her body in close against his, the towel wrapped precariously around her frame the only barrier left between them. "You saved me then too," she whispers between gasps for breath. "Your words. You gave me something to hold onto."

"I love you," he echoes the words from that day in the cemetery, the sound of them so much sweeter now, so right coming from his lips in the intimacy of a bedroom rather than the chaos of a near death experience. Her heart exalts with them, ripens as his lips curl into a tentative smile against hers and his eyes brighten from a grief stricken indigo to her favorite shade of cerulean. "I love you, Kate. I never stopped."

The towel begins to slip as she releases her grip on the fabric to cradle his face in her palms, pouring all of her energy into kissing him, into ensuring he can feel, can taste, how much it means to her, how much she loves him back.

Her heart flutters in the most wonderful way when he starts to walk her backwards, his hands on her hips, guiding her every careful step, but he pauses once they reach her bedside, soft resignation simmering in the gorgeous hues of his eyes as he pulls away.

"I think this is enough for tonight, enough for now," he whispers, but Kate shakes her head in disapproval, finally lets the towel fall from her skin.

The terrycloth hits his feet and his breath catches, but he fixes his eyes resolutely on hers, doesn't move his hands from their respectable place at her lower back.

"Castle," she sighs, their noses clashing as she stains her lips to the bone of his cheek, stroking the line of his jaw with her fingers and abrading the tips on the bristles of stubble. "Let me love you back."

He sucks her bottom lip into the wet heat of his mouth, strokes and suckles until the fire in her veins is spreading, spilling through every drop of her blood, turning her abdomen into an inferno. It builds into a wildfire that encompasses her from head to toe as his hands finally begin to roam, one tracing the line of her spine, drifting to the curve of her lower body while the other snakes between them, glides up her bare skin to rest over her scar.

Kate pulls back at the sudden touch, her fingers automatically rising to cover his, her eyes intent on his face as he sees the pucker of flesh between her breasts for the first time, and for a split second, she wishes he could have seen her unmarred. Sure, she has other scars drawn over the canvas of her flesh, but none that rival the still prominent circle of scar tissue over her heart, the thick line beneath her ribs where they cut her open to dig the bullet free. She wishes he could have seen her before the permanent damage set in.

"Extraordinary," he breathes, brushing his thumb over the uneven skin with a reverence that breaks her heart, mends it at the same time. "Still extraordinary."

"Don't," she begs on a rasp, dropping her forehead to rest against his and reaching for the drying ends of his shirt, raising it up and over his head with his help. His body is firm beneath her hands, taut muscles and hot skin that ripples under her fingers, flushes at her kiss.

She drags him down when her legs give out beneath her, his large hands engulfing her back and keeping her descent steady, aiding in lowering her to lie against the mattress while he follows. Thank god he follows.

"Kate," he moans, panting harshly against her swollen lips, indecision raging in the black pools of his pupils, the blue of his eyes darker than the night sky, and she squirms beneath him, grits her teeth and lifts her legs to twine around his waist. Not too bad, just some tugging on the firm knots in the abs, nothing she can't handle. "I don't want to hurt you-"

"You won't," she promises, even if it's a lie. She doesn't care; it would be worth it.

"But are you in pain? Is this too much? Is it-"

Kate cranes her neck to reach his mouth, snags his lip between her teeth and nips until his body reacts against his will, has his hips snapping to meet the insistent roll of hers. "Not in pain. Just - oh, I need you. All I need is you."

He stops holding back then; he gives her what she needs and takes all she has to offer.


	19. Chapter 19

"I can't move," she groans, grinning into the crook of his neck when he huffs a laugh at her.

Beckett had awoken only minutes ago to the grey dawn of morning outside the bedroom window, to Rick Castle naked and curled at her back, warm and soothing and wholly irresistible after a night of succumbing to over four years of repressed desire. She had wanted him before this, of course, but now, she's insatiable.

Though, rolling over to crawl atop him while her body was still recovering from a night of strenuous activity had not been her best idea. Her muscles had seized in seconds, half draped over him with her mouth open and yearning at his jaw, giving him quite the surprise to wake up to.

"You think I'm kidding?"

Castle shifts beneath her, stabs his elbow into his pillow as he lifts to stare down at her with a quirked brow. "No, I can feel how completely serious you are," he chuckles, his voice so gruff and raspy in the morning, so easily stoking the flame in the pit of her stomach and stroking a hand down her stiff spine. "But I'm highly amused that you wanted me badly enough to get yourself stuck like this."

"Jerk," she mutters, ducking her head to nip at his collarbone, laving her tongue over an already forming bruise there and smirking at the dig of his fingers into the small of her back.

"Here," Castle murmurs, gently hooking a hand behind her knee, splaying the other between her shoulder blades, and rotating her onto her back ever so carefully. He's so careful, always so tender, even last night, even as he had devastated her with the worship of his mouth and the urgency of his body over hers. Kate releases a deep breath at the move, her chest able to expand wider but her lungs still cinched with anticipation. "Better?"

"Yeah," she mumbles, raising a hand to his face, mapping the lines of his skin that she had not been able to see clearly in the darkness of the bedroom last night.

He's beautiful for a man. Rugged and handsome too, yes, but she had never seen the true beauty that inhabited the laugh lines surrounding his lips and the defined bone structure of his face until now. Hadn't been able to see the aura of gold that ripples within the cerulean seas of his irises until she had been allowed this close.

How could she have ever chosen a path that led to sorrow and certain death over him, over this?

"Like what you see?" Rick teases, trailing his hand up the skin of her forearm, bypassing her wrist to twine his fingers with hers on his cheek. His eyes are crinkling in the corners, his lips spreading into that crooked smile he hides from the rest of the world, and it's enough to smother the rise of grief and regret.

"Yes," she whispers, the honesty causing his eyes to flare wider for a split second in surprise. He looks so amazed, so _happy_ , and her heart swells at the change from the horror she still remembers on his face when he first ran into her a few days ago on the street. Never had she thought she would be granted the opportunity to put this wondrous expression of joy on Richard Castle's face. "It's a nice view."

Castle's entire face is alight and she has to cup his jaw, tug his smile down to merge with hers.

"You know, Beckett," he muses, the vibrations of his words against her lips sending fresh tendrils of heat curling through her bloodstream. "I think I've finally figured out the best way to relax your muscles."

Rick grazes his mouth along the rounded edge of her shoulder, the soft flesh of his lips fluttering along her flesh, migrating back to the skin of her neck, dipping his tongue in the hollow of her throat and steadying her spine when it arches.

"Castle," she breathes, coiling her fingers at his ear, but he's already traveling lower, paying special attention to her chest and causing her lungs to collapse beneath the swirl of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth.

Her hands slip to tangle in his hair instead, fingers clenching in the strands as he follows the line of her sternum, down to the sensitive skin of her stomach.

"I've wanted you for four years, Kate Beckett," he hums, the stubble of his jaw scraping along her abdomen and causing her muscles to contract and quiver for reasons that are far from pain related. "You think you're the only one who's insatiable here?"

"Fuck," she moans, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth as his lips curl into a smile over her hipbone.

"This first."

* * *

She isn't even embarrassed that Castle has to carry her to the shower, can't even be bothered by the satisfied smirk on his lips while he strides from the guest bedroom, across the apartment to the en suite connected to his bedroom with her naked body wrapped so pleasantly loose around his. Normally, she wouldn't dream of allowing a man to carry her anywhere, but he had scooped her boneless body up from the mattress before she could even consider protesting. And it's not as if it was his first time toting her around since she had joined him in Paris, probably wouldn't be the last either.

She could set aside her pride just this once.

"Can you stand?" The wall of his chest rumbles against hers with the question and she flicks her fingers to his back at the lingering smugness she detects in his voice.

"Put me down," she huffs, securing her hands on his shoulders and unhooking her legs from his waist when he bends his knees to allow her feet an effortless descent to the floor. "Don't get used to carrying me around either."

"Only in the event of stairs and sex that leaves you unable to move, got it," Castle quips, evading the death grip of her fingers around his ear, dancing away from her touch and into the shower.

The steam from the running water billows around them within seconds of him turning the handle in the direction of the little red strip decorating the silver shower controls. The warm fog coils around Castle's outstretched arm and encompasses their hands when she accepts the inviting wiggle of his fingers, joining him within the gorgeous tile walls that shimmer bronze and gold under the heated spray.

"Do you mind using my shampoo or did you want me to run to the guest bathroom, grab yours?" Castle asks, his focus zeroed in on the ooze of shampoo from the bottle into his palm, already rubbing them together and creating a thick foam in his hands.

The corner of her mouth quirks at the offer, but Kate shakes her head. "No, yours is fine."

Despite her answer, she hadn't necessarily expected that dollop of shampoo in his palm to end up in her hair right away.

"Castle," she mutters, assessing him with narrowed eyes as he slathers the shampoo through her hair with his hands. "I can wash my own hair."

"I know," he chirps, adding conditioner to the mix and… mm, she can't deny that the kneading of his fingers along her scalp, massaging her skull, is nice. Really nice. "I'm not doing this because you can't, I'm doing it because I want to."

She's pretty sure she makes a noise of acknowledgement in reply, but she can't be positive. Her entire body is being lulled into a state of blissful relaxation at the work of his hands, which is nothing new these days, and she has to fight to keep her eyes from falling completely shut.

"Love your hair," he mumbles, his thumbs circling at her temples.

"You just like playing with it," she counters on a chuckle, blinking past the daze of his fingers.

Castle doesn't deny it, continuing on with his task while the hot water rains down on his back. Standing still is driving her crazy, the arousal unfurling like the steam of the shower through her senses, but as much as she would love to have him against the shower wall, her body needs the recovery time. So in an attempt to distract herself, Kate reaches for the shampoo and conditioner positioned in a nook off to the side, squeezes a decent amount of each into her palm and rises on her tiptoes to spread the lather through his hair, raking her nails over his scalp just the way he likes, a way she discovered last night makes him purr like a kitten.

Castle's lips break into a dopey grin, a pleased glimmer in his eyes at the image the two of them must create – washing each other's hair like two idiots in a cringe-worthy romantic comedy. Though, standing naked with Richard Castle in his shower with his hands in her hair and his eyes brimming with love for her is better than any movie she could ever imagine.

"Careful, Beckett," he warns, drawing her in closer so she can stand beneath the stream of the showerhead. Her brow furrows through the mist, her eyes squinting to stare up at him, watching her with drops of water clinging to his lashes like diamonds. "You're doing the creepy staring thing too now."

"Oh?" she hums in amusement, following a stray drop of water cascading down to hang from his chin with her index finger, caressing the indention of a faint scar there. "It's even creepy when I do it?"

"No," he decides, stroking the shell of her ear with his thumb as the suds rinse from her hair, twine around her limbs to race to the drain between their toes. "I've just never seen you look at me like that. Well, not until this morning. Maybe a little before too, since you got here-"

"Like what?"

His lips curl into a grin, but it's shy, bashful and a little apprehensive, and since when does he hesitate to say what's on his mind?

"Like you're…" His sentence trails and the uncertainty rises higher in his eyes, that guard she was met with on the street four days ago building back into place.

"Rick," she coaxes, using every ounce of strength she has not to grit her teeth as she ascends onto her toes once more, ignoring the flare of displeasure beneath her incision scar in favor of matching his line of vision.

He must know though, must sense the tightening in her ribcage without even having to see, to touch, and his hands slither down the slippery slope of her back to brace at the bottom of her spine, steadying her, taking some of the weight off.

"Like you're in love with me," he finally states, shrugging like it's nothing, like he didn't just have to struggle through the process of pushing the words out of his mouth.

"That's what the creepy staring has always equaled to you?" she murmurs, keeping her voice light and leaning into the slick wall of his chest, folding her arms around his neck and allowing him to hold her up, to feel needed. Because he is, he really is, but she's done a fine job over the last four years of ensuring that he believed the opposite.

"Not in the beginning," he muses, the rigid set to his shoulders loosening, the hitch in his chest easing. "At first, I just thought you were hot. Still do."

His eyebrows waggle and she huffs, tilts her head to the side to avoid the still steady downpour pelting onto their skins.

"But yeah, near the – the end of our time together I think I did a poor job of hiding how I looked at you. What it meant."

Now that she thinks about it, finally has the courage to acknowledge the way he would stare at her when he believed she wasn't looking, now that her mind is wandering through those last few cases before her shooting… oh, oh wow, he really had looked rather smitten with her, hadn't he? Maybe more than smitten, if she was being honest with herself.

"Ooh and after that time we kissed? Yeah, I knew my inconspicuous staring skills were ruined," he recalls, his eyes glazing over with memory, a thoughtful expression claiming his features. "The freezer too-"

"Castle," she interrupts, the mention of their time locked in a freezer, on the verge of freezing to death in each other's arms shadowing this walk down memory lane with darkness.

His face falls a little at the gentle scold of her voice and her heart constricts, words that never left the forefront of her mind bouncing off the walls of her skull.

 _We kiss, but we never talk about it. We nearly die frozen in each other's arms, but we never talk about it._

Well, she was done not talking. Done allowing him to wonder where they stood or what he meant to her.

"In the freezer," she picks up, relishing in the heat of the water soaking her flesh, drenching his, a reminder that they were here, together in Paris, not back in that freezer with death clouding her conscious. "I was going to say it then, admit it."

Castle's eyes widen, his breath stuttering and causing him to choke on the small amount of water he manages to inhale. Kate tries to suppress her laugh while she reaches behind him for the handle, angling it to the middle so the spray will shut off and he can catch his breath.

"Admit what?" he coughs out, on her heels as she eases open the steamed glass door and snags the towels he left folded on the vanity.

"How much I loved you," she says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world when, once upon a time, it was the most terrifying thought to ever cross her mind. Castle stares back at her, the look of shock rippling from his head to toes becoming an all too common one, and she tries not to shift uncomfortably under his gaze, drying the ends of her hair with the towel instead. "It's all a bit blurry, but I remember saying it. Or wanting to say it, but I don't think it made it out."

"Almost," he gets out, clutching the towel she hands him to his chest, drawing her back from the cusp of ice blue tendrils, of an unwelcome reverie. "I - I wanted to ask, after I woke up in the ambulance and knew you were okay, but then Josh-"

Sorrow fills her lungs like the memory of the chill, its trenches endless, and she has to step closer, dip her head to his clavicle and breathe through it. They've talked about all of this, talked about Josh and the crux of her relationship with him, but it still makes her ache to think of him wracking his brain for a way to bring up her dying words, to muster the courage to ask her to clarify, to finish them. It pierces her heart to imagine the anguish of watching her be with another man.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against his skin, quieting him with the lift of her head and her fingers to the seam of his lips when he starts to protest. "I'm glad I don't do a great job of hiding it anymore."

Confusion dances through his eyes, but it only causes her to breathe past the accepted regret a little easier, aids her tentative smile in blossoming.

"I'm glad you can see how in love with you I am."


	20. Chapter 20

"So were you thinking the Eiffel Tower before or after lunch?" Castle calls from the bedroom, folding his clothes into his suitcase. They aren't starting their journey through France until the weekend, one more day, but he can't help it, he's excited.

Kate reappears in the bedroom doorway, fully dressed now, much to his dismay, but looking lovely in a skirt and a tank top that compliments her slim figure well. He's become a huge fan of Beckett's summer wardrobe.

"Either way is fine with me," she shrugs, combing her fingers through the waves of her hair. "When is it less crowded?"

"Pretty sure the Eiffel Tower is always crowded, but before may be a little less packed," Castle reasons, following her gaze as it travels to the suitcase he's bent over.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, quirking her brow at him, but she knows exactly why he's preparing his suitcase, he can see it dancing with the delight in her eyes.

"Just avoiding the last minute packing process," he defends, hefting his open case from the bed and transferring it back to its former resting place in the doorway of his closet.

"We need to sit down with a map tonight," Kate murmurs, propping her hip against the doorframe. "Plan out the route we want to take."

His heart exalts at the idea, excitement rippling through his veins, and perhaps it's a little silly, over eager, but it still shocks him, amazes him that Kate Beckett _wants_ him. That she dropped everything to fly out of the country to find him again, to take a chance and risk her heart despite knowing how badly she had broken his, how he would likely turn her away. It still amazes him that they've made it, that she's here now, marveling over Paris and planning a journey through the rest of France with him.

"Castle?"

"Sounds perfect," he agrees, standing from the closet floor and trotting towards the entryway to smear a kiss to her cheek, catching the scent of his shampoo in her hair, on her skin, and mixing with the tantalizing essence of cherries and musk and Kate embedded into her flesh. "Now c'mon, let's-"

His only true reason for bringing along his phone on this trip was his daughter and while he values their regular phone conversations, he hesitates at the interrupting flash of her name across the screen, a request for a Skype chat lighting up his phone. After the bitter end to their conversation yesterday, after she had hung up on him and refused to answer when he attempted to call her back, he felt less than enthusiastic to speak to Alexis. Especially if she was only calling to further chastise him.

"Answer it, Rick," Kate encourages from his side, squeezing his arm before she drifts towards the kitchen, out of sight.

He hates that too, hates the suppressed dread that wells in Kate's eyes every time his daughter calls. His mother has accepted her back into the fold and he yearns for Alexis to do the same, but he knows it won't be that easy. He and his mother weren't quite as good as holding a grudge as Alexis was.

"Hey Pumpkin," he greets out of habit, lifting the screen to his face so his daughter can see him. Alexis smiles, subdued and shy, a tad chagrinned. It's still early in New York, barely 6 a.m., but he knows his daughter, knows that sleep evades her during times of conflict and that she had likely stayed up the majority of the night in the trenches of her own inner turmoil, angry with him, angry with Kate, and maybe even herself.

"Hey Daddy," she replies on a sigh, tentative and a little guilty. "How are you?"

"I'm great, what about you? What's got you up so early?"

The morning light filtering through the familiar bedroom windows of his daughter's room illuminate the frown on Alexis's lips, casts shadows on the walls as she shrugs her shoulders. "I just wanted to talk to you. Dad… I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. It was rude and hurtful and I never wanted to hurt you."

Rick sighs and leans back against the frame of his bedroom doorway, flicking his eyes up to view Kate drifting further away with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands, towards the edge of the living room, attempting to give him as much privacy as possible.

"I know that, honey. I realize your intentions weren't to hurt me, but what you said, what you _did_ -" Castle narrows his eyes on the screen, witnessing the moment clarity flares bright blue in Alexis's eyes, spreads to a burning red along her cheeks. "Wasn't okay. I know you care, that you want the best for me, just like I've always wanted the best for you, but just like you don't want me controlling your life, you can't control mine."

"But Dad, she-"

"Alexis," he scolds under his breath, watching his daughter's lips tremble, her eyes filling with tears, and it's one of the worst feelings in the world to see his child cry, but after learning of her bitter behavior in the past year, after experiencing only a piece of it yesterday afternoon, he's able to resist the urge to soothe her for once.

"Does she make you happy?" Alexis utters, swallowing back tears and swiping at her eyes. "Truly happy?"

"Yeah," Castle answers, lifting his eyes to Kate again, finding her watching him this time. "She does."

"Then I'll - I'll accept it. Her," Alexis concedes on a shaky breath. "I just… how do you know this will work, Dad? How do you know she won't disappear again because I - I don't hate Kate. I liked her before… before she was shot and before she broke your heart, but I can't watch you go through that again-"

Kate appears at his side then, has his daughter's jaw snapping shut and her skin flushing a deep shade of crimson.

"Castle, do you mind if I talk to Alexis for just a second?" Kate requests, dividing her gaze between him and his daughter on the screen. "If Alexis is okay with it, that is."

They both glance to the phone, but Alexis has regained her lost composure and nods her consent. Castle hands her the phone and prays to the universe that two of the most important women in his life can find a common ground.

"Detective Beckett," he hears Alexis greet, not exactly friendly, but no longer quite as vicious either.

Kate shoos him away with a wave of her hand when he tries to follow her into the guest bedroom and he pouts at her, but she pays him little attention, focusing on his daughter instead. He has to strain to hear the muffled words of conversation once she disappears into her room without closing the door, but he can make out the unfurling of an explanation from Kate, something about safety and selfishness, a mention of the rooftop battle that had her hanging from her fingers and making life changing discoveries at the same time. Alexis gasps at that, at least he thinks it's the horrified gasp of Kate's name, but Beckett forges on, summarizing her decision to track him down in Paris, conveniently leaving his mother out of the conversation, protecting her from Alexis's wrath, and - and did she just tell his daughter she loved him?

"What happens when you decide it's not enough? What happens if this case come up again?" he hears Alexis counter, but Beckett doesn't falter there either.

"Alexis, I can't confidently predict how I'll react if my mother's case come up again, but I made a choice that day on the roof, a promise to myself. That if I could just have him, I'd let it go," she confesses to his daughter and listening to her recount those moments where she was sure her death was imminent still sends a shiver down his spine, but he can't help the joy that ripples out from his heart through the expanse of his chest at hearing what she was willing to give for him. "So if it does ever come back to haunt me, I'll choose him again. I'll approach the situation better, smarter, but above all else, I'll keep him safe."

"You have to be safe too," Alexis murmurs. "He's already proven he'll get himself killed protecting you. And that may be mutual, but I can't… I can't. I don't want my dad to die, I don't want you to die-"

Oh god, his daughter is crying and he can't stand out in the living room any longer.

"You won't," Kate assures her fiercely, her own eyes watering as he steps into the room, finds her back propped against the headboard with her knees curled to her chest. "No one's going to die, Alexis."

"Sorry," he listens to Alexis sniffle, attempting to gather herself from the sounds of it, so he remains at the end of the bed, fighting the urge to crawl up beside Kate and reassure his daughter alongside her. "I'm just - scared."

"Me too," Kate admits, propping her chin on one of her kneecaps. "But I have no intention of dying, neither does your dad, and he'll be home in no time-"

"We'll be home," he finally interjects, climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees, sidling up next to Kate even as she huffs at him, growls at him for eavesdropping and surprisingly, has his daughter chuckling back at them. "Like I mentioned yesterday, we're going to explore France for a few days, but after that, we'll come home."

He doesn't state the words like a question, but he turns his eyes to Kate in askance, wishing they had discussed a return date before this heart to heart with his daughter. He doesn't want to make assumptions, doesn't want to scare her away, but-

"Yeah, only a week and we'll be there."

Alexis plops back against the small towers of pillows behind her, relieved and exhausted, a tentative smile on her lips. "Okay. And maybe… maybe when you get back we can all do lunch together, talk some more?"

Castle glances to Kate, offers her the option to speak first, and feels the pride bloom strong and fast in his chest when she accepts without missing a beat.

"Yeah, Alexis, that sounds perfect."

"Good," Alexis yawns, smiling apologetically from behind the cover of her hand. "I think I'm going to go back to sleep for a little while, but thanks for picking up, Dad. And thank you, Kate, for… everything."

"Thanks for listening," Kate returns, the tension in her side easing just slightly, allowing her to lean comfortably against him while he wishes his daughter goodnight.

"Get some rest, Pumpkin," he grins, blowing a kiss to the screen and relishing in Alexis's sleepy laughter as she waves before disconnecting the call.

"So how long were you listening in on our conversation?" Kate hums, handing the phone back to him with an arched eyebrow.

"Probably from beginning to end, but I was genuinely trying to be good, so I didn't catch _every_ word," he reasons, but she scoffs at him, pinches his side in reprimand. "You did well though, talking to her. Alexis… she can hold a grudge-"

"I know," Kate nods, and ah, yeah, she knew that all too well, didn't she? "But I think it helps that we're on the same page, that ultimately, we want the same things, and I know she doesn't accept me-"

"Yet," he chimes in.

"But I'm willing to put in the work, do whatever it takes."

Pride ignites like sparklers in his chest, bright and burning wonderfully against the wall of his ribs. "I know you are," he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to her temple. "One of the reasons I love you."

He does not expect the ferocity of her kiss when she turns to return the tender brush of his lips, isn't prepared for the bruising intensity of her mouth on his, for the way she pours so much into the fusion of their lips.

"Kate," he growls, gripping her shoulders when she rotates on her side, rises on her knees to hover above him. "Don't start or we won't be out of here for another hour."

Beckett hums her acknowledgement against his jaw, but the straddle of her knees atop his lap proves she isn't really listening, or simply doesn't care. He slides his hand beneath the fabric of her skirt in retaliation, skimming the backs of her thighs, gliding higher until her encounters the strip of lace-

"Castle," she husks, nipping at his cheek, the hot gasp of her breath fanning out over his skin, penetrating his flesh and spreading like wildfire through his blood.

"Can your muscles handle another-"

"Stop worrying about my muscles," she hisses, sinking into his lap, rolling her hips and oh no, there is no way they're going anywhere now. "And make love to me."

They'll have to see the Eiffel Tower with the post lunch crowd after all.


	21. Chapter 21

Picnicking in front of the Eiffel Tower with Richard Castle is kind of magical. The Champ de Mars isn't too crowded and they've found a nice spot amidst the green space to stretch out with the overly expensive sandwiches Castle had insisted upon from a deli a few blocks away along with the fresh fruit from the farmer's market on their walk down the Rue Cler.

Breakfast had consisted of nothing more than coffee after their shower, and Castle had shoved an apple into her hand on the way out after their Skype chat with Alexis and their… activities that followed.

"You need sustenance or you're going to pass out on me in the middle of the Eiffel Tower tour, Beckett," he had teased, but with expectant eyes on the red apple until she took a bite, licked the juices from her lips.

Just like she does now with the nectarine balanced between her fingers, the sweet juices flooding from the fruit with every small bite she takes, dripping onto her chin and apparently, tormenting Castle.

"Seriously? We're in public," he whines like a child, plopping back into the grass, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses that protect him from the glare of afternoon light overhead.

"We skipped breakfast, Castle. I'm hungry," she shrugs, taking another, admittedly less calculated, bite of her nectarine and wrapping the leftover core of the fruit in a napkin for keeping until they came across a trash bin.

He sighs, as if in relief, and she pinches his thigh for it.

"Tired?" she murmurs, smoothing her fingers out to span atop the muscle of his thigh, spreading like snow angels in the fabric of his cargo shorts.

"Yes," Castle chuckles, lifting a hand to raise his sunglasses to his brow so he can peer up at her. "Because of you."

She tries not to imagine how tired she has made him in the last year, tries instead to go along with his playful musings of exhaustion over her and the three rounds of sex that have left him strung out on the grass.

"Complaining?"

"No," he snaps, too quickly, and her lips spill into a smile at that, the grin growing wider as he heaves himself back into a proper sitting position and cranes towards her. "You can wear me out as much as you like, love."

Her heart flutters at the term she doesn't think he's even realized he just used and Kate drifts forward, pushes her sunglasses back and out of the way to move in close and dust her lips to his cheek, tasting the oil of his skin and the stain of sunlight soaked into his flesh.

Her own body is aching and sore with the new exercise regimen they've developed within the last 24 hours, her abdominals hinged on a constant threat of seizing, leaving her paralyzed and in agony as they had the night before, but the physical limitations fail to curb the unfurling warmth in the pit of her stomach.

"Castle, I-"

" _Ricky_?"

Kate jerks back from him, ignoring the wrench in her gut to glance over her shoulder towards the high pitched call of his name and finding a blonde, thirty-something in a pretty floral dress and four inch heels that glitter trotting towards them with an eager smile on her pink lips. It isn't jealousy that flickers in her chest – no, he has proven to her that she has no reason to be jealous – but whatever it is, it has her shifting just a little closer to him in the grass, has her fingers coiling a little tighter where they still rest on his thigh.

"Oh my goodness, Ricky! What are the odds?" the blonde squeals once she reaches the two of them, descending to her bare knees in the grass near Castle's back, her smile rivaling the sun as she practically throws her arms around his neck, her breasts pressing too intimately into Rick's shoulder for Kate's liking. And yes, okay, she can acknowledge that now the jealousy is definitely leaking into her bloodstream.

"I - um, astronomical?" Castle stammers back, curling his hands around the other woman's arms and gently prying her off of him.

" _Right_?! I had a layover here in Paris last night, but I leave in an hour, so I thought I would say my farewells to the Eiffel Tower. I had no idea you would be here too!" the woman gushes and Kate narrows her eyes on the beaming blonde with the wide eyes that shine a sapphire blue as they sparkle back at him.

This woman knows him and Kate had no idea how or from where, from _when,_ but a busty blonde falling all over him had been exactly his type once upon a time. He may not be that man anymore, had essentially lost all traces of him in the three years they had worked together, but witnessing a woman who could potentially be an ex lover fawning over him is just a little too much for her.

Kate withdraws her hand from Castle's thigh and attempts to scoot back, gain some space from this awkward reunion, but Rick's fingers coil tight around her wrist before she can move more than an inch.

"Jacinda," Castle starts, clearing his throat and getting his feet under him, standing from the grass and drawing Kate up with him. "This is my girlfriend, Kate."

"Oh, this is-" Jacinda claps a hand over her gaping mouth, her bright pink nails a severe juxtaposition to her tan skin, and then this strange woman who has ambushed him in the Champ de Mars is springing up from her knees and lurching forward to embrace Beckett. "Kate! I've heard so much about you! Ricky talked about you for the entire flight-"

"The flight?" Kate repeats, so thoroughly confused and suffocating under the overwhelming scent of Jacinda's perfume.

"Jacinda is a flight attendant," Castle finally explains, sheepishly. "We met on my flight here over a month ago and I may have mentioned you-"

"Honey, _please_ ," Jacinda guffaws, releasing Beckett to pat Castle's cheek. "He was so heartbroken over you. He didn't tell me the whole story, but whatever happened, it's obviously better now! Though, I have to admit, I was hoping your loss would be my gain."

Kate bristles at the other woman's wink while Rick goes stiff beside her, but her mind is still tripping over Castle being "heartbroken" over her, and confiding in Jacinda the flight attendant about it.

"Jacinda, Kate and I actually have to-"

"I'm not losing him again," Beckett states, shaking her fingers free of Castle's grasp to snake her arm around his waist, hooking her thumb in the back belt loop of his pants.

 _He's mine_.

Castle's spine straightens in surprise at the claim, his eyes darting down to her in question, but she doesn't meet his gaze, relishing in the tentative curl of his arm around her shoulders instead.

Jacinda, clueless as she may appear, catches the meaning in Kate's words, in her actions, the sparkle in her eyes dimming just a bit, but the other woman purses her lips forward in an exaggerated pout.

"Too bad, but Ricky has my number if that ever changes." Kate's nails dig into her palm. "But I've gotta run now, can't be late for my flight! Nice to meet you, Kate, and good to see you again, sweetie. Au revoir!"

Jacinda waves to them both before sauntering off in the opposite direction, a swing in her every step, her gleaming blonde hair bouncing along her shoulders in the sunlight.

"Kate," he starts the moment Jacinda is out of earshot, disentangling from her to turn on his heel, facing her with a pleading expression clouding his features. "I had a lot of whiskey on the flight over and she kept offering to talk, so I ended up saying too much and-"

"Castle," she quiets him, torn between amusement and sorrow at the panic cresting in his eyes, as if he believes this would shake her faith in him, in what they've become. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I – I just – I didn't want you to think it had been more than that," he murmurs, diverting his eyes to the ground and rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Even if it had been," she mumbles back, swallowing past the idea of him and _Jacinda_. "It would still be okay. I had no claim to you, Rick, I-"

"Yes, you did," he argues, far fiercer than she would have expected, so determined and ready to defend himself, to defend her. "You've… you've always had a claim. Even after… after."

Her heart is aching, a physical throb that causes each and every crack to split wider with every beat. He loves her, loved her, for longer than she even realized, and the way she returned the privilege of having a claim to his heart… she doesn't think she'll ever be granted enough time to pay penance for her mistakes. But she wants to try; she wants a lifetime to spend trying to prove herself worthy of what she wants.

"I didn't deserve it," she sighs, her hand finding home on his chest, over the steady pound of his heart that quickens beneath her palm as his gaze jerks up to meet hers, fierce and feral once more.

"Kate-"

"Not then," she clarifies, sliding her hand up to curve at the side of his throat, stroking her thumb over the thick tendons of his neck. "Not then, I didn't, Castle. I don't think I do now either, but I'm trying-"

"Beckett," he growls, hooking an arm at her neck and reeling her into his chest, burying his face in the hot skin of her neck, brushing his lips over the gallop of her pulse beneath her jaw. Kate binds her arms at his back, fisting her hands in the fabric beneath his shoulder blades. "You underestimate how much you deserve. You underestimate how strong you are, how extraordinary."

She chokes out a noise against his shoulder at the word, the single adjective that he changed forever.

"How remarkable, maddening, challenging, and frustrating," he adds, gentling his hold just slightly and retreating only far enough to duck his forehead to rest against hers, to find her eyes beneath the fringe of her lashes. "How worth it you are. Always are to me. Always have been."

"Shut up, you're going to make me cry," she gets out, tightening her grip on his shirt and knocking her nose against his when he laughs at her, a sound that has her heart swelling thick and wonderful.

"And if you didn't have a claim before," Castle muses, skirting his thumb along the waistband of her skirt, easing his thumb past the elastic and brushing the lowest knob of her vertebrae. "You certainly do now."

Her cheeks flush with heat, but she isn't ashamed, not in the least. "I meant it," she husks, nudging her nose into the skin of his cheek, scraping at the hard line of his jaw with her teeth. "Won't lose you again."

Castle's hand fists in her hair, a warning, but his lips touch her brow, the cool whisper of his breath on her lashes. "No, you won't."

"Tomorrow," she hums, unfurling her fingers from his shirt and lifting her head, the heat of their bodies and the summer air starting to stifle. "For our last day here, let's go to dinner."

"Like a date?" he asks, excitement simmering in his eyes, so childlike and lovely that she has to dart in, steal a kiss from his smiling mouth.

"Yeah," she grins, disentangling from him to snag the compact picnic basket he had insisted upon using for the occasion with one hand and welcoming the embrace of his fingers with the other. "We could dress up, do the whole romantic night out thing."

"Katherine Beckett," he smirks, nudging her shoulder while they stroll towards the street. "Never figured you for such a romantic."

"Only for you, babe," she teases, snickering at the sidelong glare he shoots her.

"Better than _baby_ ," he grumbles, but she knows he doesn't hate the name as much as he says, preening a little each and every time she uses any form of endearment on him. "And I get to pick the place."

"Hey, no-"

"I know my way around the city better than you, Beckett." He shrugs, self-satisfied and smug. "Not only that, but I know the best restaurants too."

"Hope so, wouldn't want to spend our last night in Paris with food poisoning," Kate sighs, earning a bump of his hip for the quip.

"So little faith," he huffs, balancing on the edge of the sidewalk and extending his arm to the street for a taxi.

Kate props her chin on his shoulder while they await the stop of their cab, biting her tongue to refrain from saying more, from telling him that she's never had faith in much. Not until she met him.


	22. Chapter 22

This is probably such a stupid idea. It would be so much easier to just call Lanie, ask for her opinion and endure her best friend squealing over the idea of her and Castle going out on an actual date. Then again, it would probably be nothing compared to learning they were actually together in the first place, but she just didn't feel ready for that yet, to share him and this lovely little secret they've created over the last few days.

Castle had leant her his phone, though, and she knew it was because he had noticed she was lacking hers, and just told her to call the landline phone he never used that came with the apartment if she needed anything.

"Just be safe," he had murmured against her cheek, dusting a kiss there before she caught his chin, gave him a proper goodbye kiss that had almost lured them both back into his bed.

Kate takes a deep breath and types in the passcode he had scribbled out on the sticky note tucked into the pocket of her jeans, but she had memorized the numbers the second they left his lips. She already knew them by heart.

 _4131._ The first four digits of her badge- _former_ badge number.

She goes to his contacts, finding the name right away, and pressing the video calling option before she can think better of it. The sudden view of her face startles her, has her drawing the phone farther away as she awaits the verdict of the person on the other line.

"Hey Dad, I – oh. Kate?" Alexis observes in confusion, her eyes electric blue and flaring with surprise that is quickly followed by worry. "Is everything okay, is my dad-"

"No, Alexis, he's fine," Kate assures his daughter quickly, guilt lacing with her nerves at the receding panic in Alexis's face. She should have just sent her a text first, asked if it was even okay to call her like this. "He just let me borrow his phone."

"Oh," Alexis murmurs, bewilderment still prominent in her eyes and Beckett swallows down her anxiety, stands from the tiny bench in the dressing room stall. "Are _you_ okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I was just hoping to get your opinion actually," Kate answers, her tone easy and belying any apprehension.

"My opinion?" Alexis echoes, seeming to finally notice the background setting in which Kate is calling her from. "For shopping? Detect- Kate," his daughter corrects, shifting a little uncomfortably at the breakfast bar of Castle's loft, but she hasn't hung up yet, hasn't made any snide remarks and doesn't seem upset by Kate contacting her. Trying, they're both trying. "I'd be happy to help, but I always thought you did a pretty amazing job all on your own when it comes to style."

"Thanks, Alexis," Kate smiles softly, secretly thrilled when Alexis offers a small grin in return. "But it's… it's been awhile since I've been on a date and I-"

"A date?" Alexis queries, propping her chin in her hand and furrowing her brow. "Haven't you and Dad been on dates all week?"

"Yeah, but tonight is our last night in Paris," Kate explains, reaching out to dust her fingers over the two dresses she's narrowed it down to. "So he thought it would be fun to go out to one of the fanciest, overly expensive restaurants in the city and the most extravagant piece of clothing I managed to pack was a sundress."

"I'm shocked Dad didn't just go buy you one like last time," Alexis chuckles and Kate's eyes roll at the memory, even though that gorgeous red and gold gown is still in her closet, encased in a garment bag to ensure its safety.

"He offered," Kate admits, the corner of her mouth quirking at how hard she'd had to argue with him only an hour ago to convince him that she could pick out and pay for her own clothes. "But I think I'm doing okay on my own this time, just trying to decide between these two."

Alexis peers in closer to the screen as Kate angles the phone to encompass both her and the two dresses she's chosen. Both are beautiful and within her price range, neither too extravagant nor overly casual, both appropriate for a romantic dinner with the man she loves.

"The red one is stunning," Alexis comments, sounding genuinely contemplative and Beckett is so stupidly grateful, because of course she could have made a decision on her own, but to have his daughter willingly weighing in, feeling like a part of her life with Castle even from another country, eases the large part of her that still fears the prospect of Alexis hating her. "But the purple… I really love the purple and Dad always used to gush over how pretty you are in that color."

Kate is tempted to turn the phone away as her cheeks flush at the information, but her lips are curling upwards, beginning to match Alexis's smile. "Oh jeez, seriously? I'm sorry, Alexis. That must have been so ridiculous to listen to-"

"No!" Alexis laughs. "The way Dad talked about you was always kind of cute, like a kid with a crush. And I'd never seen him fawn over a woman's color choice in clothing before, so that was interesting."

Kate scoffs, but she's giggling over Castle with his daughter in the dressing room of a Parisian boutique and now more than ever, her hope for what they have to exist past the romance of Paris and the bubble of France is thriving.

* * *

Kate had returned to the apartment only two hours after departing and he had conveniently waited outside for her, at the bottom of the stairs. She had rolled her eyes at him, but hitched a ride on his back nonetheless, complaining in his ear that she was going to climb these stairs herself before they left, and he believed her. It was small, subtle, but since their previous night together, Kate appeared more… flexible, not so restricted by the limitations of the damaged pieces of her body.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he inquires, unlocking the front door and depositing her on his doorstep, eyeing the two shopping bags hanging from her arm – one a garment bag that he assumes contains the dress she claimed to be shopping for, and another that is smaller with the name of a boutique in a swirling, cursive font that he can't decipher.

"Yeah, so get dressed while I change and then we can head out to dinner. I'm kinda starving."

He huffs a laugh at her, pleased to see her so light, bubbly even, as she saunters towards the guest bedroom with those bags swinging from her fingertips, spearing him to his spot in the middle of the foyer when she shoots him a teasing smile through the slit in the door before she clicks it shut.

Oh yeah, he's dying to see her in whatever it is she bought now. Especially if it has the confidence she's been lacking since her shooting returning so bright and beautiful to her eyes.

Castle retreats to his bedroom and dresses in the single suit he brought with him, never imagining he would actually need one during this trip. He applies deodorant, the cologne she seems to favor, and takes the time to style his hair like he used to, something he's been slacking on lately. His grooming habits will probably remain intact for the rest of his life, but living alone in Paris for an entire month with as little interaction as possible before running into Kate had definitely curbed his desire to care for his appearance.

It's only been half an hour since Kate returned, but she's yet to emerge from her room, leaving him with enough time to shave if he wanted to. The stubble peppering his jaw is growing thicker now, a few day's worth of neglect allowing that 'rugged' look he once sported so proudly to return, and he likes it, but he wouldn't mind a clean shave either…

"Don't shave."

Rick pauses, the shaving cream bottle in his hand, his index finger on the nozzle, and jerks his attention to the mirror.

He drops the shaving gel into the sink.

"Not yet anyway," Beckett murmurs, standing in the doorway behind him in a lace dress that clings to her frame, exposing her collarbones, the edges of the dress scalloped and tasteful against her skin. So gorgeous in a deep purple, resembling the color of rich wine or a ripened plum, ending above her knees, the sleeves extending to her elbows and allowing glimpses of her flesh beneath.

"Wow," is all he can manage as she enters the bathroom, a purposeful sway to her hips as she approaches, lifting her hands to his face, scratching her nails along his jaw.

"I like the stubble."

"I like the dress."

Delight shimmers in her gaze and her hands slip down to smooth along the lapels of his jacket while his splay at her waist, large palms encompassing the entire small of her back and fingertips grazing the curve of her ass.

Kate arches an eyebrow at him. "I can tell."

"You have impeccable taste in fashion."

"Alexis helped me pick it out," she informs him, her sultry grin turning soft, shy, and the surprise almost clears the lust from his bloodstream. Almost.

"You talked to Alexis?" he asks, sparing a glance over Kate's shoulder, almost expecting to see his daughter waltzing into his bedroom, but Beckett shakes her head.

"She isn't here. I used your phone to Skype call her, asked her opinion on the dress," Beckett explains, shifting beneath his hands and eyeing him with something that resembles uncertainty. "Is that… is that okay?"

His grip tightens on her automatically. "It's more than okay," he breathes, his heart swollen with gratitude and relief, with love for the woman pulled flush against him. "Thank you."

"Castle," she huffs, laughter on her lips. He dips forward to taste her smile, to absorb the hum of amusement from her mouth, and the soft beginnings of a moan when his hands roam lower. "Rick."

His name leaves her lips on a gasp that time.

"Reservation," she pants in reminder, bracing her hands on his chest and pulling back, and her eyes are so dark, so inviting, he could convince her to spend their date in his bed if he really wanted to. But this dinner is important to her, important to him too, his first real opportunity to show the world that's she's with him, that they've become partners in every sense of the word.

Castle removes his hands from her backside, allows her to descend back to the soles of her bare feet. "Shoes?"

The question makes her hesitate for a reason he can't comprehend, but Beckett nods, smearing one last kiss to his jaw, abrading her lips on the stubble she loves so much, and heads for the doorway. Castle follows, flipping off the lights in the en suite and his bedroom, waiting for Kate in the foyer.

He expects the staccato of heels on hardwood, but is met with the soft padding of her pretty nude ballet flats instead. It makes her no less stunning, but it still surprises him until it dawns on him that she doesn't have a choice.

Her injury restricts her from the powerful footwear she once loved.

"I tried on a pair of stilettos while I was shopping," she murmurs, probably noticing his split second of lingering from his eyes on her shoes. "I can still walk around in them, but I know by the end of the night I would probably be unable to move. It's… I hate it. I really hate it."

She looks ashamed standing before him, disappointed and frustrated with herself, and it has his chest growing tight, cinching around his heart. Beckett sighs but sways into the reel of his hands on her shoulders when he gives into his fingers' gnawing urge to reach for her. She doesn't turn away from the cradle of his palm to her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I know you hate it, but it doesn't make you any less stunning," he states, bold and honest, the urge to eradicate the self-deprecation in her eyes relentless. "It doesn't make you any less powerful."

Kate scoffs up at him. "Powerful? Castle, I'm _powerless_. It's pathetic-"

"Beckett," he attempts to silence her, to put an end to the distaste stirring in the unsettling seas of her eyes, but Kate shrugs him off, crosses her arms over her chest.

"I can barely walk most days, can hardly run - I can't even wear high heels to go out to dinner with you," she growls, glaring down at the toes of her shoes. "It's probably a good thing I finally quit being a cop. I was no use to them anymore. Just slowed the team down."

"There's no way that's true," he argues, vehement, heart clenching at the disdain dimming the glimmer of her eyes that had shone so bright in the bathroom mere moments ago. "Kate, you are the greatest asset that precinct has ever had. And it wasn't because you could run in heels or tackle suspects to the ground. It's because of who you are. Because of your determination and dedication, because of your heart-"

"Rick," she grumbles, raking a hand through her hair, frustrating simmering in her gaze. "You don't understand-"

"The hell I don't," he snaps, all of that repressed anger he was certain he'd been rid of flaring up again. "Those three years I spent shadowing you, you proved how vital you are to the Twelfth, to New York City, to the families of the victims you found justice for. I didn't call you extraordinary to be _nice_ , Kate. I meant it."

Her jaw squares, but not with irritation, nor anger, but as if… as if she's trying to hold back tears.

"I know you mean it," she rasps, shaking her head when he steps towards her and Castle pauses, fists his hands at his sides to refrain from touching her. He doesn't do well seeing Beckett cry, but he knows how deeply she despises the tears herself, how fiercely she fights the hitch in her voice; attempting to soothe her with touch would only worsen the fragile breaths holding her together. "But it doesn't make it true."

"Bullshit," he snaps, earning a startled lift of her eyes. "Everything you're saying right now is bullshit. Since when do you indulge in self-pity?"

Indignation flashes in her eyes and good, he wants her angry, wants the Beckett he knows, not the shell of a woman overflowing with self-loathing for something she can't control.

"It's not pity," she answers through gritted teeth. "I'm sick of this, Castle. You chose to shadow me, to write a character based on me, because I was good at my job. You think anyone would want to read this version of Nikki Heat?"

"I chose to shadow you because that night you walked into my book party, took me in for questioning - that was the first in months that I felt the urge to write when I was beginning to think I'd never write again. My whole world changed because of you." Some of the anguish drains from the tired lines of her face, surprise filtering in, spilling from her eyes to lighten the harshness of her features. "And people love Nikki Heat because of her integrity, her tenacity and her kindness. Sure, she's a badass, who doesn't love that? But above all else, they love her for her heart. Nikki isn't you, but pieces of you did end up intertwined with her, pieces of who you are, and that's why she's the most successful character I've ever written."

Castle purses his lips, exhaling harshly through his nose once all the words have flooded out and avoiding the gaze that rests heavy on him, but with his eyes diverted to the floor, he sees the moment she steps closer, her feet fitting between both of his while her hands slide to grip his hips.

Her lips touch his cheek, their noses clashing as she leans in. "I always thought it was because I was tall."

Rick chokes on a laugh and lifts his eyes to meet hers through the tangle of their lashes. "That might have had something to do with it. Along with your hotness. Total package for me, Beckett."

She chuckles into his skin, soft and a little watery, and he knows she isn't the sentimental type, but he still hooks an arm around her shoulders, holds her against him and hugs her tight for a long minute.

"Thank you," Kate sighs, gliding her hands from his hips to splay at his lower back, stealing beneath his jacket to embrace him in return.

"Nothing to thank me for," he shrugs, smearing a kiss to her neck before pulling back, smiling down at her, but she shakes her head.

"No, there is, Castle," she insists, pressing her fingers into the muscles lining his spine. "I've always felt like I needed to be more, I still do sometimes, but you… you make me feel like I'm enough. And I'm grateful for that."

His brow furrows at the concept of _more_ , of how much more this woman could be when she was already so incredible in his eyes. "You were always more than enough for me, Kate."

The elusive smile finally blooms on her lips, blossoming full and wonderful as she lifts to share it with him.

"Oh!" she gasps a mere second after their lips have touched, jerking her wrist between them and glancing down to her father's watch. "Castle, we're going to be late."

Beckett snags his hand, their fingers automatically twining, and starts for the door with him in tow. He doesn't stop her, doesn't assure her that even if they're late the reservation will hold because the owner is a fan; he lets her lead.


	23. Chapter 23

Carrying Beckett up the stairs to the apartment has never been a bother to him, always an easy task considering how light and malleable she is, but tonight, with her curled around his back, nipping at his ear, and squirming – it's anything but easy.

"Castle," she hums, giggling after his name has left her lips, and he swears she's been amusing herself for the last fifteen minutes solely from the sound of her own voice.

It reminds him of their ruse from what felt like another lifetime ago, her stumbling and buzzing with laughter against his side, playing the role of his lover. Only this time, there is no one around to fool.

"Hold on, Beckett," he murmurs, squeezing the back of her thigh before retracting his hand to withdraw the keys from his pocket.

She sighs, nuzzling the back of his neck and causing the key to miss the lock and her laughter to release into his skin.

He never would have guessed Kate Beckett could be so giggly and he knows it had to be the bottle and a half of wine they shared… well, sort of shared, but her intoxicated state makes her no less adorable.

"Hurry, Castle," she breathes out against the sensitive skin behind his ear, catching the shell between her teeth and causing him to groan, drop his head to the doorjamb. "Get us inside so I can have you."

The key inserts into the lock and he quickly pushes inside the apartment, allows Beckett to slip to her feet while he locks the door behind them, hums in relief at the press of Kate Beckett's body sealing over his, pinning him to the hard surface of the door.

"I never would have guessed you as a playful drunk," he muses, framing her hips in his hands, trailing his palms up the sides of her ribcage, feeling it expand beneath his touch.

"With anyone else, if I was alone, I'd be… give me a good adjective for sad," she prompts, tracing the shells of his ears with both of her thumbs.

"Morose?" he supplies, earning an eager nod.

"You're so good with words," Kate hums, sultry but with a proud glimmer flickering in those hazy eyes. "But yes, that's a perfect one. _Morose_. And self-destructive. Just bad."

"Is that how this happened?" Castle murmurs the question, reining in the concern before it can seep into his voice as his fingers trickle from her elbow, down to skim along the healed but angry scar on the inside of her wrist. He had seen the faded white line days ago, traced over it a few times with his thumb while she'd slept, always wondering how it had happened and why.

Beckett frowns, lowering her gaze to follow the path of his finger on her skin. "Yeah," she admits on a sigh, swaying into the band of his arm at her waist as she lifts her opposite arm, covers his caressing fingers with her own. "But it was an accident. We had this case and it made it all come back."

"Your shooting?" he assumes and Kate nods, traces the veins visible atop his hand with the tips of her fingers, trailing to his wrist, circling at his metacarpal.

"It was a sniper and I needed it to stop, you know? So I got drunk, but it just made it worse," she grumbles, shaking her head, dropping it to rest against his jawline for a moment. "Broke a glass. Lot of blood."

"Wish you had called," he whispers, and he knows he's ruining the lovely, effervescent mood their dinner and the near two bottles of wine have put her in, but it's going to take time, a lot more than a single week, to not be immersed in sorrow every time he is reminded of how miserable they both were for that year. How much they could have solved if they had just come together instead of being apart.

"You would have come?" she murmurs, withdrawing her hand from its erotic grazing at his wrist to join the other in curling at the lapels of his jacket.

"Of course," he huffs, stroking a stray curl from the edge of her cheek, skimming his thumb along the soft skin beneath her vibrant eyes. "Always come when you call."

"Yeah?" Kate uses her grip on his suit to tug him with her on her backwards walk towards the sofa, the smile on her lips soft but predatory, hungry, and widening when he plops down onto the couch cushions at the gentle shove of her hands.

Rick reaches for her outer thigh, but Beckett is maneuvering her arms behind her, dragging the zipper of her dress down her spine.

"No moroseness, not tonight," she states, snaking her arms free of the lace fabric and shimmying the tight material down her hips. "I feel good, I feel happy."

The dress pools at her feet and Kate dips her knee into the edge of the sofa, right between his thighs. He knows now what had been in the second shopping bag she had sauntered in with earlier, knows for a fact that the sheer black lace cupping her breasts and decorating her lower half had not made the trip from New York with her, and _oh_ , if he thought he had been smitten with Kate Beckett in skirts and dresses and pretty blouses, he was utterly infatuated by the sight of her in lingerie that she had apparently purchased with him in mind.

Beckett leans into him, curling her hands at his neck and sinking forward into his body. Castle cups her ass in his hands, groaning when she adjusts into a straddle above him, rocking her hips and sucking at his jaw. "And I want you."

"You have me," he moans, seeking her mouth, humming once he has the taste of her on his lips again. "Always had me."

Kate grinds hard into his lap and he jerks to his feet, grinning at her gasp of surprise as he carries her from the couch and into his bedroom.

* * *

The buzz of his phone on the nightstand draws him away from his perusal of Kate's naked back. It's still early, the morning light still fresh and new, and they hadn't planned to leave for their French expedition until after breakfast. So he had been studying the remaining bruises, skimming the tips of his fingers over the fading splotches of greens, yellows, and barely there purples decorating her skin while she slept, willing the battered flesh to heal faster, but he stretches for the phone before it can wake Beckett.

His brow furrows at the title of the Twelfth Precinct flashing across his screen.

Rick slips from the sheets before he accepts the call, answering on a hushed breath of his surname as he tiptoes out of his bedroom. He isn't sure what Kate did with her phone, but he hasn't seen the device make a single appearance since she's been here. He has a feeling it has to do with the quitting of her job, the abandonment of her former life and everything familiar, but if the Twelfth is calling him, it has to be because they can't reach her.

Maybe she doesn't want them to.

"Castle?" Ryan's voice echoes through the speaker and Rick sighs quietly in relief. If he had to talk to anyone from the precinct, he's grateful it's his closest friend.

"Hey Ryan," Castle greets, strolling into the kitchen, reaching for the French press. "Everything okay?"

"No," the detective states and Castle stills, the fingers curled around the handle of the coffeemaker going stiff. "I know you guys haven't spoken in awhile, but is there any chance that Beckett is with you? Or have you heard from her? I've tried calling her a million times now and I even contacted her dad, but no one knows where-"

"She's with me," Castle cuts in before Ryan's rambling can continue any longer. "In Paris."

" _Paris_?" Ryan repeats in surprise. "What the hell are you guys doing in Paris?"

Castle huffs and glances back towards the bedroom, checking for any signs of Kate, but all is still quiet, peaceful, and he's missed Ryan, but he wants so badly for this phone call to be over so he can return to bed, to her.

"I was here on vacation and she flew out last week, after she quit her job apparently, and we managed to run into each other," Castle summarizes. He wouldn't mind telling Ryan the truth, a better version of the story, but he wants to discuss it with her first and plan out the best way to approach their friends about the developments in their relationship, the resurrection of it.

"Does this mean… are you back on the team?" Ryan inquires, some of his earlier urgency disappearing for a moment under hopeful curiosity.

"I don't know," Castle shrugs, propping his hip against the countertop. "I think it's safe to say I'm on Kate's team."

"Oh, that's - that's really good, Castle. I'm glad to hear that," Ryan replies, the smile in his voice evident. "But there's something Beckett needs to know as soon as possible-"

"Castle?"

Rick twists back towards the bedroom to see Kate padding out dressed in one of his t-shirts that she must have slid on, her brow scrunched in confusion as she approaches him.

"Castle, put it on speaker," Ryan instructs from the other line and Rick hesitates, but follows her former teammate's command, meets Beckett halfway between the kitchen and the living room and holds up the phone between them. "Beckett, you there?"

Kate stiffens, her eyes darting up to question his, but Castle lifts a hand in supplication, shakes his head in denial to knowing anything about this. She sighs and curls her fingers around his wrist, tugging the phone closer to her.

"Ryan," she greets, her voice far steadier than she looks.

"Beckett, I've been trying to reach you for the last three days," Ryan informs her on an exasperated huff. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes rise from the phone to snag his once more, a flash of gold illuminating the troubled swirl of browns and greens. "I'm doing great, actually. Is everything okay on your end?"

"Not exactly," Ryan hedges, causing Kate's fingers to tighten around Castle's wrist, apprehension climbing her spine. "Beckett, it's Maddox, he-"

"Wait, Ryan, no. I resigned, remember?" Beckett interjects, her nerves palpable as they bubble to the surface. "I'm done."

"Look, I hope this isn't because of Gates or because of what I did-"

"No," Kate cuts in again, softer this time, but Castle shifts in closer, the urge to ask the unspoken question of what Ryan had to do on his tongue, but Beckett beats him to it. "No, Ryan, I get it. You were just trying to keep us safe."

"I still am," Ryan answers, far too grave for Castle's liking. "Beckett, the guy who threw you off the roof… he's still out there. And he's looking for you."

Kate's entire face blanches, her lips pursing into a thin line, and Castle steps forward, the phone balancing between them as he curves his palm to her nape, as if his touch can steady her. But he needs it too, needs the reassurance of her skin beneath his hand to steady himself.

"Listen, I know what this case has done to you," Ryan continues at the lack of response on their end of the line. "To both of you. But I didn't call to ask you to jump back in, I called to warn you."

"Warn her about what?" Castle murmurs, dread already constricting his gut, crawling up his insides and spreading like poison.

"We think Maddox is hunting Beckett. Security cams at an airport caught a glimpse of him yesterday boarding a flight out of New York to Paris." The phone almost slips from his grip while Beckett nearly staggers to the floor, her knees beginning to tremble, threatening to collapse. "That's why I called you, Castle. I remember you mentioning a vacation in Europe and I thought… it was the only guess I had left."

"Yesterday," Beckett repeats. "That means he's already here. Already searching."

"We'll go," Castle assures her, assures them both. "I'll take you somewhere, take us both somewhere safe. We'll leave just like we planned, Kate."

"I'll contact the police department over there," Ryan chimes in, the clacking of a keyboard filtering through the speaker, but Kate is already shaking her head.

"He'll just follow us. He'll find me and I'll lead him straight to you. Castle, I - I can't-"

"Kate," he growls, the fingers at the back of her neck tightening, tugging her in closer, but she doesn't fight him, surging into his embrace instead, burying her face in his neck to smother the uneven arrhythmia of her breathing.

"I shouldn't have found you, shouldn't have come here-"

"Stop it," he snaps under his breath, aware that Ryan is still listening, but too desperate to care. "You can't regret this now-"

"It isn't regret," she hisses, rearing back to stare up at him with moisture swimming in her eyes. "I could never regret a second of it, but - but _safe_ , Castle. I thought you would be safe, that if I let go of her case I could end it all. So stupid," she whispers, shaking her head in disgrace, breaking from the claim of his hand.

"Kate-"

"Guys," Ryan interrupts, as politely as possible amidst the growing chaos of a dire situation. "Try not to panic yet. I'll have Paris police put a detail on the place where you're staying while they keep a lookout for Maddox. We'll find him, Beckett."

The expression of despair doesn't ease, but she forces a nod even though Ryan can't see her.

"Thanks, Ryan," she replies, her voice a tight thread ready to snap. "Keep in touch?"

"Of course," Ryan promises, but Kate is already retreating towards their bedroom, her gaze set on their luggage in the doorway, and Castle takes the phone off speaker.

"Ryan," he murmurs, pacing towards the living room window where they danced only a handful of days ago. The sky is grey today, devoid of sunlight and crowded with dark clouds instead, the scene so terribly cliché. "Is there anything-"

"Just keep her calm," Ryan answers right away and he's grateful, so grateful that her boys know her almost as well as he does, that her former colleague is already prepped in how to help, even from another country. "Both of you need to just stay calm. We don't know where Maddox is and panicking will solve nothing. Hole up in the apartment for now. So far, all we're sure of is that he learned of Beckett's flight to Paris, but that doesn't mean he's aware of your presence there. It may take him some time to track you down."

Castle feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness, the fear of being hunted, of being a target, rippling through his skin.

"And as a safety precaution?" Ryan adds. "Keep the door locked and if anyone comes knocking, don't make a sound. Have you had much contact with your neighbors?"

"None."

"Good," Ryan sighs. "Then if he asks around, there's less of a chance people will be able to help him out. The more time we can buy the better."

Yeah, but no amount of time will help them if they're just sitting ducks, Castle wants to point out. They're defenseless, no weapons, no strategy, and no amount of time will prevent Maddox from killing them both if the sniper finds them before he's caught.

He wants to take Kate and make a run for it.

"And we all know, Maddox is a good shot, so stay away from the-"

"Castle, move!"

Rick spins just in time to see Kate running into him, shoving him to the side just as the bullet pierces the glass.

* * *

Being shot a second time is no easier than the first. The burn of the bullet floods through her shoulder, engulfing her flesh in flames and jerking a cry from her chest as they hit the floor together.

She lands on top of Castle, feels the breath leave his lungs when his back hits the hardwood, but he wastes no time on recovery, gentle but trembling hands holding her to his chest as he staggers to his elbows and scrambles them away from the windows, up against the nearest wall.

"Kate," he gasps, cradling her to him and the pain is so intense, so searing, that her vision is accompanied by black spots, her shoulder in agony that ripples from the entry wound to spread along her entire left arm, lacing along her collarbones, dripping down to twine with the seizing muscles of her abdomen. "Kate, stay with me."

Fuck, she can't - can't black out. Can't leave him pleading and alone in his love for her for a second time.

"Ambulance," she wheezes, her entire body tensing as he shifts, trying so very delicately to lie her down on her back. Castle sheds his t-shirt, his hands shaking so violently he can barely remove the fabric from his arms, but they steady before pressing the bunched up material to the bullet wound.

Her entire world tilts, threatening to go dark, but he calls out, whispers her name like a prayer. When her eyes regain the sense of sight, blurred and unfocused as it is, Castle has his phone against his ear, his words frantic and too strangled for her to make sense of. The conversation is brief, though, and then he's placing the phone on the ground, returning to hover above her instead and oh, it's too similar. Too horribly similar with his eyes a piercing blue and terrified, wet and stricken with grief as they divide glances between her face and the wound dousing her shoulder in fire.

"Why did you do that?" he chokes, easing the hand that is not applying pressure to the bullet wound soaking his t-shirt in blood beneath her neck, supporting the base of her skull. "You can't just - just jump in front of bullets for me."

"Double standard," she gets out, barely able to breathe, but managing a momentary twitch of her lips for him. The wound isn't fatal, even though the burn resembles the shot that was supposed to kill her over a year ago; she'll pull through, but Castle doesn't seem to process that, staring down at her with that same look of a heartbroken little boy on the cusp of losing everything.

"Had to," she adds between the trembling passage of her lips, her eyelids threatening to fall shut with their increasing weight. "Had to do it. I love you."

His hand fists in her hair, but his thumb caresses the sensitive skin behind her ear, draws her awareness to the intimate touch for one beautiful second.

"Beckett - Kate, don't close your eyes," he commands, his voice swimming in tears, clogged with them, or maybe she's just drowning, can't hear him from below the water. "Kate, don't leave me again, I can't-"

The flames have consumed her entire body, the unbearable rip through her shoulder going numb, the devastated muscles of her abdomen snapping beneath the weight of the angry beast from beneath her ribcage finally freed to shred her insides to pieces.

"Shh, love," he chokes, and it's only when his voice cuts through the haze of physical torture that she hears herself, realizes that she's whimpering, keening, uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

But she doesn't want him to be sorry. She just wants him to be there when she emerges from the darkness that finally quiets the suffering and takes her under.


	24. Chapter 24

**Epilogue**

* * *

Kate rolls onto her uninjured side, the splinters of agony spreading from the bullet hole in her shoulder thin but fierce at the movement, but she ignores the pain that has become a new, every day companion in hopes of encountering the solid wall of Castle's body beside her.

No such luck.

Her eyes flutter open to the morning light bleeding across the empty side of the bed and she stretches one of her legs, feels the lingering traces of his warmth on the sheets, catches his scent in the pillow her cheek is pressed against along with the smell of coffee in the air.

"Maddox is officially in NYPD custody."

Kate redirects her gaze to the open doorway, can't help the gentle flicker in her chest at the sight of him in his boxers and t-shirt, a cup of steaming coffee in hand.

"I'm not sure what exactly is going to happen to him, but Ryan assured me that Esposito is watching him like a hawk. He isn't going anywhere," Rick promises her as he shuffles inside the room, approaching his side of the bed and waiting patiently for her to heave herself up into a sitting position before offering the mug to her.

"Transfer back to the States took a while," she rasps before bringing the caffeine to her lips, humming at the small sip she manages. "I wasn't worried."

"Liar," he murmurs, easing ever so carefully onto the bed beside her. Ever since her second shooting, since she had been discharged from the nearby hospital and they had returned to their temporary home of the Paris apartment, Castle had been afraid to touch her most days. The sling on her shoulder was like an albatross attached to her arm.

But not her side, the cavern of her ribs where the raging pain once roamed is vacant, the beast going dormant since her shooting. Everything had snapped the second she'd hit the floor, all of her thickly snarled and carefully contained muscles breaking free, splintering fissures of white-hot pain through her bloodstream. It has her holding onto the private theory that it was the chronic, overwhelming pain of her side, her abdomen, that had pushed her into unconsciousness that day with Castle pleading above her for a second time. Not the wound in her shoulder.

She can't be sure the retreat of the long lasting pain is a permanent one, a final farewell at last, but she's grateful for its absence now; she doesn't think she could handle Castle worrying about that _and_ her gunshot wound all at once.

"I've been too busy healing throughout the last couple of weeks to be worried," she muses, eyeing him through the thin screen of steam floating up from her cup.

His gaze has already fallen to her injured shoulder. It's only been a little over a month since her shooting, but she's made progress, feels so much better than she did during this period of her first recovery from a bullet wound. But Castle isn't seeing her progress, only the cause of this effect.

"Hey, Castle?" He jerks his eyes up to meet hers, an apologetic smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, but it's forced, any hint of joy always so forced lately. She isn't positive how to go about fixing this, but she's going to try. "I understand that you're angry with me-"

"What? No, I'm not-"

"Rick," she sighs, lowering her coffee to her lap, watching him deflate beside her. "It's okay to be upset with me for jumping in front of you. I would be… livid if you'd done the same."

The line of his throat bobs with a hard swallow. "I can't keep watching you die."

Kate purses her lips, but reaches for his hand, slipping her fingers into the cove of his palm. "I couldn't watch you get shot either. I wasn't trying to die, but you know it goes both ways, right? Keeping each other safe."

"I know," he nods, drawing her fingers to his lips. "But you're kind of outdoing me here, Beckett. You're definitely winning when it comes to who's saved whose life more times."

The smile cracks his lips when she scoffs, craning her neck and ignoring the fissures of pain stretching through her shoulder as she brushes her lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I've missed you, your smile," she mumbles, finally earning the turn of his head, the fit of his lips. "Mm, and that."

"Pain meds have you dopey," he chuckles, squeezing her fingers, but Kate shakes her head, laces her right arm around his waist, her hand beneath his t-shirt to feather her fingers at his skin. She doesn't take the pain medication anymore, hardly did in the first place.

"I still want to see the rest of France with you," she sighs, her lips brushing at his jaw before she ducks her head, presses another kiss to his collarbone through the thin fabric. He sleeps beside her every night, close and careful, but it's felt like so long, too long, since she's been able to touch him with freedom, without rigid tension thrumming through his veins.

Castle hums, the stubble on his cheek abrading hers as he nudges the bone of her jaw. "May take another few weeks before we could do that and we have to get back to New York sooner than planned now."

"I know," she relents, lifting her head, grinning when he rises with her, purposely bumps their noses. "Don't know if I'm ready to face it all, Castle."

"All?" he murmurs, but he knows, doesn't have to ask, and she says it all anyway.

"Being back in the city, everything I left there."

"Gates?"

Being laid up in bed for days straight, trapped in the apartment with boarded up windows (more for his peace of mind than hers) for the majority of the last few weeks, had given her a lot of time to think, contemplate her choices, share her concerns with Castle. They had come to the conclusion that her hasty decision to quit her job just wouldn't work as a long term one.

"I don't want to go back," she'd rasped, her bottom lip between her teeth, his hand cradling hers as he'd sat beside her in bed, much like his is now, the Paris moonlight bleeding through one of the few windows he'd left untouched lighting the concern in his eyes.

"To work?"

She had hesitated, because no, it wasn't that. She loved her job, still loves it even after having abandoned it, but she loved him more.

"To how it was before, how... I was. With her case. I don't want to go back to that mindset, the lifestyle, any of it," she'd confessed, her heart thundering in her chest with unexpected nerves, shuddering through her bones to shake her shoulder, accelerate the pulse of pain.

But Rick had lifted a delicate palm to her cheek, grazed his fingers down to her throat, stroking the skin above her unsteady pulse with his thumb, slowing the beat.

"It won't," he'd promised her, tracing the bone of her jaw. "I won't let it, Kate. Because I can't lose this, you. I wouldn't have been able to handle it before, but now... I love you too much. I can't let you go. I won't."

She'd had to fight to earn his kiss, to shush his worries about her fresh injury with the seal of her mouth, the slick of her tongue past his lips like the signing of an agreement.

"Better not," she had husked, her heart picking up speed for an entirely different reason, and his eyes had sparked like stars in a midnight sky as he'd looked back at her with his lips curling upwards. "Not letting you go either, Castle."

She knows that her former captain won't let her off easy by any means, she'll likely have to damn near beg for her shield back, but Gates will take her back. Of that she's certain. Doesn't mean she looks forward to the lecture she'll be receiving first.

"And the boys. Alexis. Your mom."

"It's been nice here in the bubble of Paris," Rick agrees, leaning back against the headboard. "Well, until our bubble burst. Literally. Violently-"

"Castle," she huffs, chuckling into the coffee going cold between her palms. "As long as I'm in the bubble with you, it'll never burst, remember?"

His eyes ripple with delight at the statement, the blatant honesty that she's learned is more valuable to him than she would have thought, and her heart swells at the pleased spread of his lips.

"True," he agrees, still toying with her fingers within the tangle of his. "But you and Alexis have been getting along great, my mother hasn't stopped adoring you, and everything else – the boys, Gates, your job – we'll figure out along the way."

"You've already started packing my stuff, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

She rolls her eyes and casts her gaze towards the quaint closet across the room, able to catch sight of her bag propped next to his, bulging with newly acquired clothing from the past month, the souvenirs. She hasn't been able to go out much, still isn't too comfortable with him venturing outside the apartment without her even if Maddox has been in custody since the day after her shooting, but that hadn't stopped Castle from leaving for groceries, returning with food and tiny trinkets, knick-knacks and mementos that made her smile.

Speaking of…

"Hey, did you already get the gifts for Alexis and your mother?" she inquires, watching curiosity spark in his gaze as he tilts his head at her.

"No, I was going to wait until later in the week, closer to our departure date. Why?"

"Do you think I could come with you? Pick some stuff out for them myself? Maybe even see if I can find something for the boys," she muses, because really, it was the least she could do.

It wasn't often that she showed any form of gratitude or affection in the form of gifts for the men she loved like brothers, the respect between them often left unspoken, but Esposito had been suspended because of her, Ryan had nearly lost his best friend, had to hear Castle nearly lose her just last month – they deserved _something_.

"Ooh, we can get them matching key chains," he quips and Kate has to suppress the sound of her amusement with the pierce of her teeth to her bottom lip before she stretches across him for the top drawer of the nightstand. "Hey, what-"

"I need a piece of paper, Castle," she states, wiggling her finger towards the drawer, but they both know she can't reach it from this angle, not unless she awkwardly crawls over him and like hell is he going to let her do that in the state she's in when he's sitting right here.

Castle huffs and tugs open the drawer for her, nudges her back into place with his shoulder while he hands her his notebook, searches inside for a pen. She flips the moleskin open, fluttering through the pages stained in his handwriting, his freshly inspired words that she's witnessed him pen while sitting right beside her, until she finds a blank page.

But before she can come across a clean strip of paper, a smaller, folded piece slips free from the book and lands in her lap.

Kate sets his notebook aside, plucks the paper that is soft with age from her thigh and unfolds it carefully, not realizing what it is until she hears Castle release a quiet noise of distress from her side.

"Beckett-"

"Your bucket list," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the lengthy list scribbled onto notebook paper in haphazard handwriting.

Most of the tasks and wishes are silly, ridiculous and unrealistic, but there are a few that ring true that her eyes snag on at random.

 _3) Raise an amazing daughter._

 _25) Convert apartment into blanket fort._

 _19) Spend a year in Paris._

"We'll mark off number 19 someday," she chuckles, tracing her thumb over the name of the city. "Hopefully soon."

"Kate, you don't-"

She hums, but her eyes are still on the list, unable to tear her gaze away, and then, finally, she sees the top of the list. Number one.

"Be with Kate," she reads aloud, her voice coming out as breathless as she suddenly feels, and she lifts her head, looks up to find him watching her warily. "That's… your number one? When – when did you write this?"

Rick sighs in defeat and scrapes his fingers through his hair, averts his eyes, but she's clutching the list to her chest with her left hand, reaching for his wrist with the right.

"Two years ago, maybe. I'd had a list before - stupid one I made in college - but I rewrote it while you were staying with us after your apartment blew up. That… it put a lot into perspective for me."

Her fingers curl around his palm, holding on through the overwhelming beat of her heart, drumming out a violent rhythm through her chest and putting the throb of her gunshot wound to shame.

"You never changed it," she whispers, feeling the words imprint across her sternum as she presses the list in tighter against her chest. "Even after… you kept it like that."

"I couldn't," he admits, the corner of his mouth curling in a sheepish grin. "There were times when I wanted to, but I couldn't, not when I still wanted it. Not when I never truly lost hope."

Her mouth is dry, her tongue heavy and useless, struck speechless by him, his words, his love for her. She can still remember the dreadful certainty that had accompanied her to Paris over a month ago, the likely conclusion that even if she did find him amidst the city of lights, she would never gain the forgiveness she sought, that she had broken them before they had even begun.

But he had never given up on her, even when she had given him every reason to.

Kate's eyes flicker to the pen he'd retrieved, the fingers of the hand not trapped in hers curled around the writing tool, and she withdraws the list from her chest.

"Here," she rasps, trying to clear her throat and releasing him to smooth the list out atop the face of his moleskin. "Cross it off."

His tentative grin blooms into a smile, wide with adoration that shimmers through his gaze, shines brighter than the city outside. "You sure?"

Kate nods and shifts to curl carefully into his side as he transfers his notebook to his lap. "You're with me. I don't plan on letting that change."

Rick draws a line through the three words, marking them off the list while her gaze strays from the top to the bottom of the paper.

 _50) Get married and make it last._

Kate touches her lips to the side of his throat, sighs out in approval when he cranes his neck to claim her mouth, brushing his lips over hers, caressing the tingling flesh before abandoning the pen, the paper and book, to cradle her jaw.

"I love you, Kate," he murmurs, his thumb stroking the soft shell of her ear.

She thinks maybe they could work towards that last one next.

"Love you too, Castle."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to Evan, who devoted so much time and love to this story, to Nadia who provided me with the most gorgeous cover art, and to everyone who took the time to read along through this journey with me. Your support and feedback is so incredibly appreciated.**

 **Until next time.**


End file.
